


Fast Friends

by randomsquare



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 14:25:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13882764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomsquare/pseuds/randomsquare
Summary: Our heroes have returned from their successful rescue mission from Neverland. The Charmings have thrown a celebratory bash, and all of Storybrooke is invited. But not everyone is having a good time. And as life returns to what passes for normal in Storybrooke, there is always another dreaded gathering in the offing. What are two loners to do? Captain Swan. Canon Divergence.





	1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This fic is inspired by the Paul Dempsey song of the same name, which is a fine tune about wanting to escape a dreadful gathering, or the people who tend to congregate at dreadful gatherings. Same difference.**

Emma should have expected this, should have expected that her parents would go all out. She'd never seen so many people crammed into the loft before. Wouldn't have even thought that many people would conceivably fit. She'd never even  _met_ half of those people before, and she'd really thought she had been getting the hang of Storybrooke's cast of recurring characters by now.

She'd done the whole gracious hostess thing for a while, after Mary Margaret had caught her hiding out in a corner, clutching a glass of champagne to herself like a shield. So she'd made the expected circuit with a plate of cheese and crackers. She'd allowed herself to be caught up in an argument between two of the dwarves, and had suggested they settle their differences with a bout of arm wrestling, rather than the duel they had first proposed. They'd kept her around to officiate, and it had seemed like a better option than sitting on the antique loveseat beside a hot and heavy Ruby and Dr Whale, wondering when the hell  _that_ had happened.

She couldn't even take refuge in a corner with Henry, her son having ducked out early with Regina, still tired from his face-off with Pan in Neverland. It stung a little, how happy he'd been at the prospect of a good night's rest in his childhood bedroom. How content he'd been to stay with Regina, and not with her. Not that she could deny him that, when all she had to offer him was a spare cot David had set up in her bedroom. Especially not with the rabble currently trampling all over the place...

He was 11.  _Of course_ he wanted his privacy. His X-Box. His comic books. Of course he felt safe in the same bed he'd lain in for years, with the superheroes he loved depicted on the bedspread, and the most powerful sorceress in town, who loved him without reservation, guarding the door.

Shaking off the feelings of inadequacy, and something that seemed suspiciously like a come on from one of the dwarves, (Bashful, if she had to guess, by the pink stain to his cheeks), she stood up from her place around the dining table, making her way to Mary Margaret's wet bar. A skirting glance of the room revealed her mother was otherwise occupied, her and David being suitably gross with the PDA, with their usual fawning crowd of onlookers, and Emma took the opportunity to lift a bottle of bourbon.

She was about to return to her place at the table when a familiarly scruffy head of hair appeared at the front door, and without giving it much thought, Emma suddenly diverted course, making for the stairs to her loft bedroom, taking them two at a time. Only when she was safely ensconced in the darkness of her bedroom did she let out a sigh of relief.

"Fancy meeting you here, Swan."

The voice came from somewhere in the dark, and she whirled around at the sound, hand clutching her chest where her heart was threatening to bust out of its confines, beating a mile a minute. Annoyed at her over-the-top reaction, and her unwelcome intruder, she paused a second to get her heart under control, before taking a few careful steps forward, flicking on the bedside lamp.

Captain Hook lay on her bed. The black leather of his usual pirate outfit looked almost comical when held in contrast to the ridiculously floral bedspread he was currently reclined on, a Mary Margaret pick for sure. He sat up as the light came on, but he didn't make to leave, humor building beneath those cool blue eyes.

"Fancy?" She asked sharply, her arms crossing over her chest, entering full Sheriff mode. "This happens to be  _my_  room. What are  _you_ doing here?"

Rather than let her tone deter him, he seemed to simply absorb it, letting his eyes scan the room in the soft light at his own pace, letting the details of the space finally soak in. She saw a corner of his lip curve upwards as he took in the framed picture of Henry on her nightstand, before letting his eyes slowly drift back to her.

"I have a gun. And I will shoot you," she warned, when he didn't say anything.

It was an empty threat. She'd left her gun at the Sheriff's station, locked up with the few firearms Graham had kept on the premises. She hadn't liked leaving it in the loft if there was a possibility Henry would be there, but now she kind of wish she'd kept it, if only to frighten the pirate a little.

He raised his arms in front of his face, but slowly, lazily, as if he knew she was bluffing. "No need for violence, love. I did not mean to intrude. Believe it or not, I was merely searching for a short respite from the evening's..." He searched for the right term, "... festivities. I was unaware these were your private chambers." His words were earnest enough, but his gaze betrayed him, lingering meaningfully on her closet door, from the handle of which hung one of Emma's bras. At least it was one of her nicer ones.

"Oh really?" She said, hurriedly stepping in front of the wardrobe to block his view, throwing the offending garment inside and pulling the closet shut behind her back. "You had no idea, huh?"

He shrank a little under her scrutiny, before his eyes met hers. "Well..." he conceded, the beginnings of a mischievous smile spreading across his face, "I may have suspected."

"You know, we have a name for people who sneak into other people's bedrooms in this world. A Peeping Tom. And it's kind of frowned upon." She paused, cocking her head to the side, as if considering his behavior. "Kind of illegal, too." She tapped the Sheriff's badge still clipped to her belt, the threat self-evident.

His eyes didn't betray any panic, but he shifted at her words, bringing his legs over so his boots landed on the rug beside the bed. His hand and his hook were still raised by his sides, as if he was the villain in a pantomime. Not that that was so far off the mark, really. "As I said, my motives were not nefarious. I simply found your chambers held certain... tactical advantages."

"Tactical advantages?" Emma asked, his explanation lost on her.

He gestured at the railing which overlooked the rest of the loft. "A quiet place to survey the crowd. To remain unobserved, unbothered." He shrugged.

"Like what? A crow's nest?"

"Look at you, Swan," he grinned, finally dropping his arms to his sides and rising to his feet. "A few days on a pirate ship and already using the correct terminology. We'll make a proper pirate out of you yet!"

Emma rolled her eyes, before stepping towards the railing, peeking out over the heads of those gathered downstairs, seeking out the one she had fled from.

"And I take it you had a similar thoughts?" He asked quietly from behind her, closer than she'd thought, all the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.

Pretending his proximity didn't bother her, Emma said nothing, stepping back from the edge, carefully avoiding those all-seeing eyes of his.

"Is it your parents you are avoiding? Or Baelfire?" He asked, all quiet curiosity, head craning out to observe the guests below. "Or all of the above?" He raised a single eyebrow.

Emma let out a small bark of unkind laughter before she could stop herself. The pirate had always been able to read her. Always. And how she had always hated that. "Maybe I'm just saving the last of Mary Margaret's stash from being decimated by the seven dwarves?" She reasoned carefully, holding up the liquor bottle she'd been holding between her fingers, waving it in front of his face.

"Very magnanimous of you, Swan," he nodded, smiling, but she could tell he didn't buy it. Damn him.

He stepped forward then, pulling the bottle from her hands with the scantest of efforts. "But if you do insist on lingering in my hiding space, you will have to share."

"Hey!"

"Pirate," he replied automatically, as he carefully examined the top of the bottle, determining the best way for a one-handed man to go about opening it.

"Just-" A sharp look from him silenced her, so she merely folded her arms and watched him figure it out. Holding the beverage in the crook of his elbow of his left arm, he considered it for a moment longer before locating the tab hidden in the wax with a careful pass of his fingertips, and with a gleeful glance at Emma, pulling it free to reveal the cap, which he twisted off immediately, the rings on his fingers scraping into the red wax.

"Glasses?" Hook asked, eyes scanning the room fruitlessly. "A goblet or two?"

Emma snorted, shaking her head.  _Goblet._  She held her hand out, and he passed her the bottle wordlessly, watching on in rapt fascination as she brought the bottle to her lips, tipped her head back, and let the golden liquid pour down her throat.

* * *

They'd crept closer to the edge, all the better for surveying the increasingly drunken antics of the denizens of Storybrooke below, turning off the lamp so they could better go unobserved. It didn't escape Emma's attention, lying as she was beside him on her bedroom floor, the bottle of Maker's Mark sat between them, that this was the first time she'd been alone with Hook since Neverland.

She couldn't help but be aware. The very proximity of him left a humming in her blood, something beyond the simple effects of the bourbon. The last time they'd been alone together, he had said he wouldn't give up on her. He'd promised her fun. But then again, in Neverland he'd said a great number of things. None of which he'd since delivered on, stretched out beside her in the dark, the look behind his eyes friendly and unthreatening now, with none of the excruciating sincerity he'd carried around since his admission in the Echo Caves.

Maybe all he had needed to see sense was to escape that godforsaken jungle. To see how they would never really work. Two people from different worlds, enough emotional baggage between them to kill a pack mule. She couldn't deny that a part of her was maybe... disappointed? He hadn't struck her as the kind of guy whose feelings were fleeting. And maybe she'd drawn some strength in that cursed realm from his support, the way he believed in her. Not because she was the Savior. But because she was Emma.

But as she watched Neal's movements across the loft, smiling and joking with the Darlings, making polite small-talk with his Dad's new girlfriend, she was also relieved. It was peaceful here in the dark, watching her friends and neighbors make fools of themselves. No one needing her to save them. No one expecting her to be the hero. No one demanding she choose. She could just... be.

She rolled onto her side, propped up on one elbow, considering her companion, who was chuckling darkly beside her, as he watched the other dwarves carefully approach Sleepy's prone body, snoring away as he was on the loveseat by the window. Leroy, motioning his brothers forward, took a black marker out of his coat pocket, and set about making crude drawings on the poor dwarf's face, the others having no sympathy for their fallen brother, as they bit back frenzied laughter.

"I'm kind of surprised you're here."

"Pardon?" He asked, attention drifting back to Emma.

"I just mean..." She searched for the best way to articulate herself without offending him. "I'm surprised you came. To the party." She clarified quickly. "It's just, you don't really seem to be the social type. I mean," she indicated their apparent isolation. "Clearly."

If his face held any reaction to her words, he hid it well, bringing the bottle of bourbon to his lips and taking a long pull.

"Well," he began slowly, lowering the bottle back to ground. "The Prince  _did_  invite me."

" _David invited you?!"_ In her surprise she'd been too loud, her voice carrying across the space, and both of them ducked back at once, lest anyone dare look up. _  
_

"Sorry," she whispered, after a minute or two of tense silence, until they were reasonably sure their location was still apparently under wraps. "I just... David?" She still couldn't picture it. She knew they'd gone off on that Boy's Own Adventure in Neverland. Knew that they'd... bonded a little. But still. The last time Hook had stepped foot into the loft, David had punched him in the face. And now he was an invited guest?

Hook shrugged, lip twitching. "What can I say? I'm growing on him." Emma looked doubtful. "Apparently my willing assistance was instrumental in the rescue and subsequent safe return of young Mr Mills." He leaned closer, his voice growing huskier. "Or did you not hear?"

Her head began to swim, from the bourbon, or his nearness, she had no idea. Scrambling for purchase in this situation, Emma leaned back a little, letting the sarcasm coat her tongue. " _All hail the conquering hero."_

"Aye," his laughter was soft, devoid of humor, and he began scratching behind an ear with his hand. "A ridiculous notion, that. The pirate playing at being a hero." She would have caused less damage if she'd slapped him, his easy confidence slipping away with one careless remark.

He made to get up, but Emma grabbed his elbow, yanking him back down, his body hitting the floor with a loud thump. They both froze as they heard the people below pause in their merriment, wondering at the sound a moment, before returning to their revelry.

"I hardly think that was necessary," he mumbled between them, rubbing at the dent in the hardwood his hook had made on the way down.

"Sorry, I..." She noticed her hand was still on his arm, and she snatched it away. "I didn't mean it like that."

His eyes were wounded when they turned back to her, rather than the angry she expected. "And how did you mean it, exactly, Emma?"

The use of her given name disarmed her. As he knew it would. Emma had never been great at apologies at the best of times.

"I _am_ grateful." Her words are clumsy, but insistent. "For your help. That you came back. I didn't mean to seem like I'm not."

He didn't say anything right away. Just looked at her intently, blue eyes shifting, weighing the truth behind her words. Eventually, he nodded his acceptance, and Emma let loose the breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

"So what's next for the illustrious Captain Hook?" Emma asked, trying to alleviate the tension.

And it might have worked, had her words not been immediately followed by the tell-tale scrape of boots on the metal staircase, and both of them looked at each other, scrambling to their feet.

"Emma?" called up David's voice. "You up here?" He seemed to pause at the foot of the stairs, awaiting a response.

"And I'll take that as my cue to take my leave," Hook whispered, backing towards the window.

"The window? We're on the third floor!" Emma hissed back.

"Yes, and I'll much prefer to risk that drop than Dave's reaction when he finds out I'm up here. I doubt his new-found goodwill towards me extends as far as being discovered in the princess's bedchamber, with the princess, unchaperoned."

"Seriously?" She can forget for days at a time that her parents are fairytale royalty, and sometimes it all comes racing back with cold, hilarious clarity.

"He'll get over it," Emma reasoned. She was a goddamned adult, after all. And yet, she still shoved him out of the way, helping to prise open the window as they heard the boots advancing slowly up the stairs.

"Be that as it may." He paused at the threshold, a real smile breaking through at last. "I'd rather like to keep on his good side."

Emma glanced down at the drop, uncertain. The roof of the neighboring building was lower than theirs, but the jump was no small thing. And if he missed it, he'd land on the concrete far below and break something for sure.

"Drop and roll," Emma advised.

"Pardon?" Hook was lost, apparently not altogether familiar with proper sneaking-out procedure.

"If you don't make the jump, drop and roll." She repeated. "And for god's sake, cover your head!"

"Never fear, Swan," he flashed a fearless grin. "I'll make the jump."

"You'd better," she poked him in the chest with her forefinger. He smiled at the action, her concern for his safety an apparent source of amusement.

"I'll see you soon, darling," he said, ducking his head to deliver a single chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth, before climbing onto the window frame.

Brain fogging over slightly, it was all she could do to step back, giving him room to maneuver out the window, coat dragging behind. And with one last wink, he disappeared into the night, like some kind of comic book vigilante.

He made the jump.

Just in time for David to appear at the top of the stairs, a scowl beginning to pull at his intoxicated grin. "Please tell me I didn't just see a pirate leap from my daughter's bedroom window." Emma's heart sank into her stomach.

"You didn't just see a pirate leap from your daughter's bedroom window?" She repeated, hope edged in her voice.

He paused. Saying nothing. Looking at the open window again, then back to Emma. "Good," he replied with a curt nod, before turning back, and commencing his drunken descent down the staircase.


	2. Chapter 2

When the Evil Queen had passed on her reluctant invitation to her latest soirée, Hook had every intention of letting her down gracefully. He knew the invitation came from a sense of obligation, rather from any real desire to share his company. Furthermore, he already had plans for the evening, and none of them involved making forced conversation over pretentiously small servings of food, in the same room as the Crocodile and his new fiancée.

He wasn't daft. He knew the gathering was more important to Regina than she would readily admit. A way to celebrate having successfully vanquished another foe, yet another familiar face from the Enchanted Forest with newly returned memories and an axe to grind.  _Didn't they all, these days?_ Moreover, the Evil Queen and the Savior had actually worked together to accomplish the task, pooling their magics, with the bare minimum of snarky comments exchanged, which was certainly a turn up for the books.

He didn't begrudge the Evil Queen the small measure of acceptance she had gained in the town. Living in the same community as all those you'd cursed for 28 years, and having them remember that fact, couldn't be easy.  _Easier if she just hadn't cast the damn thing in the first place,_  he'd thought. But then, Hook was hardly in a position to cast stones when it came to going to extraordinary measures for vengeance, innocent bystanders be damned. Love made fools of them all.

As such, he didn't begrudge her a small step on her path to possible redemption, towards earning the love and trust of her son. But he still would have rathered spend his evening as he had originally intended, sequestered in his quarters aboard the Jolly Roger, getting uproariously drunk, alone.

And he would have, had that blasted fairy not intervened.

"Of course he'll come," she'd answered for him, stepping in front of where he sat by the counter at Granny's, eyes gleaming with mischief as she smiled up at the Queen. "Hook's never one to turn down free drinks."

Regina had looked amused at the interjection, but before Hook could refute her words, she'd already nodded her assent, making her way to her booth in the back where the rest of the heroes were busy gorging themselves on a generous platter of something called "chilli cheese fries".

As soon as she was gone, he grabbed the erstwhile fairy by the elbow with his hook, pulling her back to hiss in her ear. "And what the bloody hell do you think you're doing, dictating a man's social calendar without his consent?"

If Tinker Bell was intimidated by his ire, she didn't show it, whirling around to face him, a sly smile on her lips.

"Helping," she'd replied in that annoyingly self-assured way that all fairies had about them, wings or no.

"Helping?" he scoffed. "What the devil makes you think I want or  _need_  your help?"

"Emma will be there," was her sing-song reply, nudging him with her elbow.

"Of course she'll be there," he growled in a low voice, swiveling his chair around to face her better. "She's the bloody Savior. Everything that happens in this town, she's always right at the center."

"And she's been sneaking glances over here ever since you sat down." She gestured to her left with her eyes in way that didn't even approach subtle, and Hook couldn't resist following her gaze to the corner booth, where his Swan and her family sat.

She was nestled in the booth beside her lad, both bent over his famed storybook in apparent concentration, her golden hair spilling out onto the tabletop in gentle waves. Feeling very much like young man chasing his first lass, and slightly ridiculous, he began to doubt the veracity of the fairy's claims. Until Emma reached out a hand to push her hair back behind one ear, at the same time surreptitiously glancing up from the page, her green eyes meeting his from across the room. Something warm bloomed in Hook's chest as he held her gaze, the tinge of color on her cheeks as she hastily averted her eyes almost enough to make a man hope.

He hadn't told Tinker Bell that he'd scaled back his efforts to win Emma's affections since their return to Storybrooke, that he'd promised Baelfire he wouldn't stand in the way of their reconciliation, if that was her choice.

He hadn't told her much of anything, really, but being the persistent fairy she was, she'd gleaned enough. And so Hook had avoided her as best he could, unable to stand watching her eyes light up at the idea of a dread pirate pining after a bloody princess of the realm.

He especially hadn't told her of the way he'd almost ruined all his good intentions when he'd found himself caught in her chambers during their return celebration. He'd already been well on his way to intoxication, and regretting his latest attempt at good form when she'd happened upon him. For her own reasons, she'd stayed, the temptation to close the distance between them driving him to surliness, and further into the bottle of whatever glorious concoction she'd brought upstairs with her. Even so, he hadn't been able to resist stealing a goodbye kiss as he beat his hasty departure, a kiss that teetered on the edge of friendly, keening towards darker avenues.

He'd never claimed to be perfect.

Another evening spent in her general vicinity was certainly a bad idea, an unnecessary test of his resolve. And yet, glancing back towards the booth, from where the Savior was studiously  _not_ looking at him, he supposed he couldn't see the harm in one night of revelry. He  _had_ been invited, after all.

* * *

He'd never before merited an invitation into the Mayor's residence, but the reality proved to be every bit as grandiose as he would expect from Regina, the stark white columns, vaulted ceilings and distinct lack of personal effects very much a reflection of the woman herself. Beautiful, but cold. Lacking in the warmer details.

From the looks of the townspeople who were milling in the foyer, their expressions a mixture of awestruck and fearful as they took hesitant steps further inside, he knew he wasn't alone in feeling the Evil Queen's imprint upon the place. The crowd around the refreshment table was thin, Madam Mayor's predilection for contaminated foodstuffs preceding her. There was a much larger crowd clustered around a handful of dwarves, who'd rolled a few barrels of ale out onto the patio, and begun distributing foamy servings in garishly colored, flimsy looking cups. And though he regarded them with no small amount of suspicion, Tinkerbell had one thing right about him, he wasn't the type to pass up a freely offered beverage. He accepted his offered cup with a grateful nod, before disappearing back inside.

From his chosen spot beside a table of untouched savory confections, piled high on silver platters, he was ideally placed to watch as Emma made her eventual entrance, trailing just behind her parents, somewhat flustered when the attentions of near everyone turned to their arrival. He wasn't sure whether to be aggrieved or relieved that she seemed otherwise unaccompanied, with no sign of Baelfire by her side.

Gods, she was beautiful.

Her golden hair had been pulled up into some intricate style, the lean lines of her neck exposed. She'd been outfitted in a dress that was not in her usual style, soft and pretty, pink lace flaring from the waist.

She looked like a princess.

Moreover, she looked uncomfortable.

Every few seconds her hands would ghost over the fabric, tugging at the hem of the skirt, adjusting the bodice. Whilst he appreciated the view, Hook would bet any treasure that the garment had been something her mother had forced upon her, with Emma too polite to refuse. The matching shoes, leaving her standing taller than her usual boots, seemed to be unfamiliar to her, every few steps forward accompanied by a small wobble, as she struggled to maintain her balance. It was somewhat endearing, watching so capable a woman struggle outside of her comfort zone, and yet too stubborn to admit defeat.  _How very like her._ It equally made him want to wring her mother's neck, for so obviously parading her daughter around in such a way, as if she were a doll rather than a grown woman, with a child of her own.

So distracted was Hook with watching Emma's entrance, that he crashed headlong into a man wearing a tan coat walking in the other direction. At the collision, his ale slopped over the rim of his cup onto Regina's pristine tiled floor, and he held out his hook to rest upon the man's shoulder, steadying himself.

"Sorry mate, I-" His words of apology died on his lips when his eyes clapped on the man's face, whose eyes grew wide behind his spectacles.

It was the Cricket. The man he and Cora had imprisoned in the hold of the Jolly Roger just a few weeks prior. The man from whom he had extracted Storybrooke's closest guarded secrets. He recalled the particulars of the interrogation with a cold clarity now, as he saw a familiar rush of fear flood into the man's eyes. The sharpened tip of his hook biting into the man's flesh. The secrets tumbling from trembling lips.

He shied away from the memory, jerking backwards suddenly, extracting his hook from the man's shoulder. The man,  _Archie,_  he reminded himself, had gone pale, his previously genial smile twisting into something entirely more horrified as he stood rooted to the spot, unaware of his own beverage tipping over onto the floor.

Over the centuries, Hook had done a lot of bad things to good people in order to get what he wanted. This man's treatment at his hands was simply one of the latest in a long line of questionable deeds, and one more instance of collateral damage in his never-ending feud with the Crocodile hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things.

But seeing this man, this good man, regard him with so much naked fear, Hook felt something white hot begin to burn uncomfortably in his blood, something he scarcely knew he was still capable of feeling.

Shame.

With a short glance back into those terrified eyes, he took another step back, eyes darting around for the nearest exit. "I'm sorry," he said again, though he knew the words were empty. "Truly." And without a backwards glance, he turned on his heel and strode from the room as fast as he could manage without running.

* * *

This was one of many reasons Captain Hook preferred the open ocean, and the sparse company of his loyal band of miscreant crewmen. Why his occasional trips ashore were dulled by the distracting combination of willing women and fine ale. It was much easier for a man to live with his misdeeds when he didn't have to encounter them again in polite company.

He'd already been plagued by enough phantoms as it was.

Following his run-in with the Cricket, he'd taken temporary refuge outside, walking out past the orchard, finding himself seated before the hollowed-out shell of what he supposed may have been a pond of some kind, which was now simply an empty grey expanse, scattered with leaf litter, blessedly free from prying eyes. He would have just headed back to the Jolly Roger, returning to his previous plans of drinking himself into a welcome stupor, but he knew if he left the party without being glimpsed by Tinkerbell, she'd become even more unbearable than normal.

He'd go back in and find her when he was ready, when the thirst for more of the surprisingly good ale became too insistent. But in the meantime, the company of the stars was enough, unfamiliar though they were.

Or so he'd thought, until he'd heard the soft rustle of approaching footprints on wet grass, and he cursed, having thought his hiding place rather inspired. With his run of luck, it would be the Cricket, come to enact his revenge. Or the Crocodile's betrothed. Or Baelfire. Or even the Crocodile himself. Any one of the parade of faces of people he'd injured or otherwise disappointed.

He lifted his head, surprised to see the figure of Emma Swan approaching quietly in the dark.

She looked like a forest nymph. Her hair had been pulled free from its confines, the tumbling curls appearing silver in the pale moonlight. Her feet were bare against the grass, as she wound her way through the rows of Regina's orchard. The uncomfortable shoes from earlier dangled by her side from a single curled finger, no longer impeding her every step.

She was otherwordly. She was beautiful. And he was in so much trouble.

"I didn't even know Regina had a pool," she remarked in greeting, seeming almost impressed, as she came to stand a little ways behind him. He imagined she was talking of the hollow structure to which he'd found himself drawn, and he shrugged, patting the ground softly beside him, inviting her to sit.  _Pool._ He filed the word away.

He felt her hesitation, her weight shifting from one foot to another, before she eventually sighed in resignation. She sat down beside him, one leg curled under her, the other dangling over the edge, brushing the dark leather of his boots before she quickly readjusted her position.

"Everything alright, Swan?" He asked softly, keeping his eyes averted from her face, as if she was a sprite that could be spooked back into the darkness if he got too close.  _That wasn't so far from the truth_ , he thought grimly.

She let out a long breath, her fingers returning to picking uselessly at the hem of her dress. "It's just a lot, you know?"

She looked at him then, and he dared look back. There was fatigue behind her eyes he hadn't seen before, a tightness to the way she held herself that was about more than just her unfamiliar costume. The Savior was exhausted. And if he had to guess, more than a little overwhelmed by her responsibilities.

"Finding the strictures of your position a little daunting, love?"

She let out a small, unfunny laugh, picking up a leaf from the pool's edge, rotating it between her fingertips. "And which position would that be, again? Sheriff? Savior? Mother? Daughter? Petty ex-girlfriend?" She averted her eyes at the last title, letting her gaze fall to her lap.

 _Ex-girlfriend_ , he noted with a guilty stab of dark satisfaction. Not lover. Not girlfriend. Not yet.

"Why are you still here?" She asked suddenly, shaking him from his hopeful thoughts. "Here in Storybrooke, I mean," she clarified.

"Why?" he asked slowly, waiting until those green eyes returned his way. "Do you wish me gone?" He cocked one eyebrow, anticipating her response.

"No, though maybe I should," she muttered, her eyes widening when she realized she'd delivered her accidental admission aloud, and she hastened to fill Hook's stunned silence. "I mean, are you done going after Gold?"

Was that her concern? That he would return to seeking his vengeance at any cost? After everything he'd said in the Echo Caves? Or after? After he'd allowed the Crocodile passage on  _his_  ship, all in the name of rescuing her boy?

"Well, I can't see us knocking back pints together at the Rabbit Hole anytime soon," he answered wryly, and she frowned. "But... I've agreed to stay out of his way if he stays out of mine, and that's probably the cuddliest arrangement we could have hoped for." She nodded, apparently satisfied.

"So what's next for the daring Captain Hook?" Her voice flooding with an enthusiasm which did not suit her expression. "You've still got that shadow strapped to your sail, right? You could go anywhere. Do anything."

It certainly sounded as if she wanted him gone. Though if that was because she actually wished it, or just because she wanted the complication of him out of her life, he wasn't sure. Or maybe it was simply a test. He never could be entirely certain when it came to this woman. But even as uncomfortable as his run-in with the Cricket had been, he'd meant it when he'd told Baelfire he was in this for the long haul. Emma was used to those she cared for leaving her. He didn't intend to be the next. And if that meant building a life in Storybrooke, a relatively law-abiding life, he was prepared to at least try.

"You've seen the state of the Enchanted Forest, love. It's not the glittering realm of possibility that it used to be..."

The land ravaged by Regina's curse was certainly a much different land than the one he remembered. Ogres running rampant again. Dark witches scrambling for power. Armies of the dead marching through the plains. He had no doubt the seas were similarly chaotic, left unattended by royal navies for so long, all manner of beasts grown plentiful and confident in 28 years without interruption.

"And the hot showers of this realm are indeed a marvel worthy of a more thorough examination," he smiled. He'd let an edge of innuendo creep into his voice, knowing she expected nothing less. And when she rolled her eyes, as he'd intended, it made him feel warm, this return to their usual push and pull.

"I have no immediate plans to return to the Enchanted Forest, lass," he finished.

"Yeah, well, I feel like it is my duty as Sheriff to remind you that in  _this_  realm, piracy is a crime."

"I'll have you know, Swan, that piracy is a crime in  _every_  realm. That's why it's called piracy, and not..." He searched his mind for an alternative, tongue captured between his teeth. "...sharing," he supplied at last.

Emma rolled her eyes again, but she couldn't quite hide her smile. "It's just that piracy doesn't work in this world like it does in the Enchanted Forest. There's the Coast Guard, and if they don't get you, the Navy will. And there is no way a boat like The Jolly Roger stands a chance against their superior technology."

"A ship, love," he corrected automatically. "And are you telling me this realm of yours is truly devoid of piracy?"

"Well..." she considered this. "I mean, we have them. Just, pirates these days are more into burning DVDs than making people walk the plank."

"DVDs?" He was lost.

She waved away his question, returning to his original query.

"Fine, there  _are_  pirates in this world. Not a lot, but some. Usually lingering off the coast of war-torn countries, preyed on shipping vessels, or in between the islands of nations too corrupt or poor to patrol their own waters. But they aren't like  _you_."

"No?" He leaned forward a little, eyes fixated on her. "And what separates me from these men, Swan?"

"Well, for starters, they have machine guns," she shrugged. "Maybe a bazooka or two."

"Ba...zooka?" His voice was uncertain, letting the unfamiliar vocabulary roll across his tongue.

To his surprise, Emma laughed. "It's a..." She shook her head. "Never mind. All I'm saying is, I wouldn't recommend you embark on a career in piracy in this realm. As the sheriff. And..." A beat of hesitation. "... as your friend."

"Friend?" He repeated, with more than a hint of incredulity.

"Yeah, you're right," she said glancing up at him. "That's a stupid idea. Let's not do that." She stood up quickly, as if to physically distance herself from the suggestion.

She had turned as if to leave, and Hook had swung his legs back over the edge of the pool as if to follow her, when both of them froze at the sound of hushed laughter making its way through the trees. Someone was in the orchard. Two someones. And by the sounds of it, they were being quite amorous about it.

The she-wolf, and her doctor beau, perhaps. For Swan's sake, he hoped it wasn't her parents. Some things no child ever needed to see. Hearing the tangled footsteps moving closer, Hook made his choice, pushing himself over the pool's edge and skidding down the sloped curve until he reached the leaf-littered bottom.

"Swan?" He asked, uncertain, raising his hook for her to take. Her saw her bite her lip, looking from him to the trees where the couple were, and back. Eventually, though doubt was sewn across her face, she nodded slowly, reaching out gingerly to use his hook as a guide, before stepping off the edge.

She let out an involuntary squeal as her bare feet skidded along the grey slope, clutching onto the hook for dear life, letting out a stream of uncharacteristic giggles when she finally slid to a stop beside him. He'd never heard her sound so much like a lass before, heart unburdened by the stresses of real life. Hook found he liked it very much, this hidden side of Emma.

She caught herself, of course, stifling her giggles and stepping away from him to lean against the cool grey slope. She looked back at him, but didn't say anything, and neither did he. They both listened for signs of the couple, but there was no indication the pair had heard anything, busy though they were. Slowly, he lowered himself down to lean on the slope beside her, still managing to keep a respectful distance. His self-control was strong, but it wasn't that strong, and her proximity was already compromising his precious few morals.

"I never did congratulate you on your defeat of Storybrooke's latest foe," he remarked quietly, when the sound of her steady breathing in the dark beside him became too much to bear.

Even though he could barely make out her face, he knew she was rolling her eyes. "I didn't really  _do_ anything. David's the one who found his cave. And Belle's the one who found the counter-spell. Regina's the one who knew how to cast it. All  _I_  did was wave my hands around a little."

"You and I both know there's more to magic than that, love," he chided. "It takes discipline. Strength of purpose. In your case, a pure heart."

She scoffed, probably at the heart comment. If only she knew.

"And I hear you and the Evil Queen made quite the pair, united against a common enemy. Dare I say the two of you are beginning to get along?"

"Well, I can't see us knocking back pints together at the Rabbit Hole anytime soon..." she replied, repeating his own words back to him with a smile.

"Touché," he chuckled, bowing his head.

"You've been different," she noted, her words careful. "Since we got back to Storybrooke."

There lay dangerous waters. How to explain his recent behavior without alluding to his promise to Baelfire? Best to simply waylay her.

"Good different, or bad different?" He asked.

"I don't know," she replied honestly. "Just different."

He couldn't see the path her eyes took, but by the way she faced him, he was sure she was making a thorough survey of his face, trying to determine from his expression what he wouldn't say with words.

"EMMA!" had come a man's shout nearby, from somewhere in the orchard. Baelfire. It was Hook's turn to shift away, guilt at being powerless to resist her company once again flooding in his veins. He was a terrible friend. And Emma, well, she had scrambled to her feet, peering over the edge of the pool, seeking out the man's figure in the darkness.

"I've got to go," she whispered quickly, eyes casting around for a suitable exit. "Give me a boost?"

He wasn't exactly sure what she had in mind, but in the end, he allowed his Swan to use his knee as a step-stool as she tried to pull herself up onto the edge. Hook's hand came up to encircle her bare ankle, the brush of skin on skin vibrating in his blood, which he tried desperately to ignore. Cupping the heel of her foot in his hand, he helped lift her higher, until she could successfully scramble out.

"Thanks," she replied quietly, as she rose to her feet on the edge, voice a little breathless. "You gonna be able to get out of there?"

Her concern for him amused him. Like it always did.

"You needn't concern yourself darling. Captain Hook is not one to be bested by a humble pool."

"Well, at least one of you is humble," she mumbled under her breath, bringing a small smile to her face with her own cleverness. "Suit yourself," she shrugged, wiping the dirt from her dress. And with nary a backwards glance, she headed back into the line of trees, and out of his sight, back into the company of her former lover.

Her uncomfortable shoes were still sitting on the pool's edge, when he too eventually clambered out, after much swearing and exertion on his part. Perhaps he  _should_  have asked for assistance, but a man had to have his pride. He looked around, but there was no sign of Emma. Nor Baelfire. Nor the amorous couple. He took the shoes with him when he left, stuffing them inside his coat.

And if Emma knew how they'd come to appear on her desk at the Sheriff's station the next morning, as she walked in, still blurry-eyed, the only keys to the place still clutched in her palm, then she didn't say a word.


	3. Chapter 3

Belle had never wanted a bachelorette party. In her own words, it wasn't really  _her thing._ Maybe it would have been Lacey's, but not hers. But from the first moment that she had walked into Granny's Diner with that huge rock on her finger that marked her as the future Mrs Gold, Ruby had taken it upon herself to ensure that the single girls of Storybrooke had at least one night of fun before their number reduced by one. And she wasn't taking no for an answer.

"Single? Aren't you with Whale now?" Emma had asked, when Ruby had stopped by her booth while she had been otherwise preoccupied with her scrambled eggs, to issue an invitation to said disaster-waiting-to-happen.

"Pshaw," Ruby waved a perfectly manicured hand. "I mean, yeah, we're  _seeing how things go._ But curse or no curse, he's still a little bit of an asshole. I'm hedging my bets."

 _Fair enough_ , Emma thought.

"And what about you, with your hot baby daddy?" Ruby smirked. "I  _saw_ you two having pancakes yesterday."

"Yeah," Emma responded blithely. "With Henry. It wasn't a  _date_."

Using Henry as a go-between served many purposes. Not only did it make Henry happy, to spend time with both of his birth parents, it also distracted Neal from his desire for one-on-one conversations of the intense variety. That and the both of them still had an awful lot to catch up on, where Henry was concerned. A few weeks of him living in the loft didn't even begin to make up for ten lost years.

But spending all kind of serious time with Neal was... confusing. She knew there were plenty of reasons she'd fallen for him all those years ago. Even now, twelve years later, she still caught glimpses of them. She may have been young and naive when they'd met, but even then she'd built up walls. Walls he'd scaled only too easily with his warm smiles. His mischievous grins. His street smarts. The way his voice would get soft and low when he was serious, the way his eyes seemed to betray a wisdom beyond his years. That last one made sense in hindsight.  _How old was he again?_ She'd thought of him at the time as an old soul.  _Yeah, no kidding._

Emma shook herself from her thoughts when she caught Ruby raise a single eyebrow at her, more with concern than disbelief.

"So if it's only "single" women, does that mean Mary Margaret isn't coming?" Emma asked, spearing her next mouthful of eggs with her fork.

"I..." Ruby trailed off, considering.

Having read Henry's story book, she knew that Red and Snow has been better friends back in the Enchanted Forest than Ruby and Mary Margaret had ever been. But she wasn't sure they'd really had the chance to reconnect since they'd recovered their memories, what with living from one crisis to the next.

"I..." Ruby started again, and faltered. She looked down at Emma, who was trying too seem as inconspicuous as someone can be with a mouthful of scrambled egg. "Would you... be okay with that? If she came?"

Emma took her time swallowing down her eggs, giving herself a moment to school her features.

"Why wouldn't I be okay with that?"

Why indeed. It's not like the transition from best friends/roommates to mother/daughter had been traumatic at all. What with the breaking of a magical curse, and finding out that the woman who you thought had given you up for dead was actually a fairytale princess. And then there was the portal-hopping. The rescue missions. The realization of her own latent magic. The Neal thing. The Hook thing. The Neal thing again.

Not to mention the fact that her parents were now trying for a new royal baby. One they could actually raise. One they could actually... One which by the sounds of it, they'd seemed to be trying for when she'd stumbled downstairs that morning, which could have explained her sudden desire for a Granny's breakfast.

Ruby was giving her a funny look now.

"What?" Emma asked, wiping her face with her napkin in a hurry. "Do I have something?"

"You're good. Just..." She wasn't sure if it was a wolf thing, or what, but she didn't like the way Ruby seemed to be reading her. Like  _he_  did. "If you need to talk, I'm around. Okay?" The offer was sincere. Emma could tell. She gave a small nod in thanks, the ghost of a smile.

"And you'll come to the party?" Ruby asked, her words straining with undiluted hope.

Emma had begged off the last "girl's night" citing Sheriff business. That seemed like forever ago now. Before the curse broke. Before... a lot. She could do that again. Ignore everything and concentrate on work. There was always something going on in this town, after all. But something about the way Ruby was so excited about it tugged at her. Being around Henry and his puppy dog eyes had clearly softened her up.

"Oh, alright," she relented with a groan. "Why not? David did a pretty good job as Sheriff, right? He can cover for a night."

Ruby practically squealed, earning her a scowl from Leroy, who was sitting with some of his brothers at the next booth over, and looking not nearly caffeinated enough for his liking.

Ruby hurried over to re-fill his coffee cup before he made a scene, shooting Emma a victorious grin over her shoulder.

"And don't forget to wear something hot!" she called back, with a wink.

Emma pretended she hadn't heard her, eyes cast firmly back onto the morning edition of the Storybrooke Mirror, but feeling the stares of the other customers on her anyway.

And then she actually bothered to finally read the headline, coffee spilling across the Formica tabletop as she rose from her seat in a hurry.

"Son of a bitch!"

* * *

So it turned out that when you tried to introduce a tribe of conniving orphan children, who are accustomed to a certain standard of violence, into a little slice of 21st century America populated by fairytale characters, chaos ensues. How about that.

Honestly, Emma wasn't sure what she had been expecting. The Lost Boys had seemed so cute and innocent on the trip back from Neverland, snuggled into the hammocks in the crew quarters of the Jolly Roger, listening intently as Mary Margaret told them a bedtime story. So docile they'd seemed.

She should have known better.

They wanted mothering, sure. They  _needed_  mothering. But they were still the same kids who'd been under the sway of Pan for who knew how many centuries. Who'd killed for him. She'd found local families willing to take them in, but it wasn't going to be a straight shot onto the honor roll at Storybrooke Middle School.

And then they'd laid siege to the place.

Of course they had.

Javelins from the Athletics Department had been commandeered as spears. The faculty had been barricaded in the teacher's lounge, with an axe wedged under the door. There had been a bonfire on the football field, fueled by a small mountain of homework assignments. There were teenagers running wild down the streets of Storybrooke wearing war paint and throwing rocks through store windows.

It was pandemonium.

All because Sidney Glass had taken it upon himself to write an op-ed on how the citizens of Storybrooke shouldn't be "harboring the lackeys of an evil sorcerer" without trial, and plastered it across the front page. As if he himself had not been Regina's loyal lapdog for who even knew how long?

The Lost Boys had seen the way the wind was blowing. Centuries of arrested development in the jungle hadn't left them at all equipped to deal with an onslaught of rejection, just when they were beginning to fit in. Emma knew the feeling. It was the same moment she'd experienced with every new foster family when things inevitably went south, and you knew you were going to be in a new school by next week, and all you were left with was the sinking realization that nothing good ever lasted. So they did what orphans do when they see the end coming. They struck first.

The next time Emma saw Sidney Glass she was going to punch him in the face, first amendment or no first amendment. Just as soon as she got all the spot fires out.

* * *

It took hours to round up the last of the Lost Boys. Even more to clear up most of the debris. A deal was struck with the fairies, so that the boys could bunk in the convent, until a more permanent situation could be found. Mother Superior promised she would keep a sharp eye on them. Oddly enough, it was the bargaining with the townspeople that proved the largest challenge of the day.

They'd all been worked up into a lather over it, of course. A contingent of dwarves, led by the Leroy (of course) proposed sending the kids over the town line, to try their luck in the world outside Storybrooke. A few others suggested corporal punishment. A great number instead chose to place the blame for the destruction squarely at Emma's feet. And with one raised eyebrow from Regina, who stood to the side of the hall where all the irate townspeople had assembled, she knew which camp she fell into.

They were right, of course. Bringing the Lost Boys back  _had_ been her idea. She was pretty sure if it had been left up to anyone else, they never would have never left that island. But it had still been the right thing to do. Emma still believed that, even if no one else did.

To his credit, David had stepped forward in full Prince mode, and gave a little speech about second chances, which seemed to calm the masses enough to put away their torches and pitchforks. Mr Gold, as the chief property owner in town, made some noises about "damages", but Regina sniped back something about the Dark One being unable to repair a few broken windows, and he slunk out soon after, scowl firmly in place.

Neal offered to be a mediator between the town and the tribe, and Emma accepted gratefully. She couldn't be sure whether the offer was a sincere one, or if he was simply trying to get back into her good graces. Either way, she'd accept the help. Whilst it hadn't exactly been smooth sailing, Neal had once made the transition from Lost Boy to 21st century man, after all, and lived to tell the tale. Emma could relate to the Lost Boys, but she couldn't charm people the way he could. She couldn't always get the words out, the ones people needed to hear.

It was best to let him handle it, while she worked on getting them back into their homes, back into school. Which was easier said than done. The faculty most definitely held a grudge now. And the families they'd been staying with had been shocked out of their happily ever after daydreams, and forced to confront the reality that the kids they'd been sheltering were real teenagers with real problems, and it wasn't all going to be sunshine and rainbows.

Emma had hoped to have Mary Margaret on side, to try to talk to the Middle School faculty, teacher-to-teacher, but as they made their way back to the loft after the meeting, she could see there might be some problems with that plan.

"I don't know..." Mary Margaret said, pausing outside the door to the loft. "What if staying in Storybrooke isn't what's best for them? I mean, living with Pan all these years..."

"So you think we should have just left them in Neverland, with the poison trees and the mermaids?" Emma responded hotly.

"Of course not!" Mary Margaret hastened to add, placing a hand on Emma's shoulder. "You did the right thing in bringing them back with us. All I'm saying is, what if we aren't equipped to handle them?"

"Equipped?" Emma shrugged off Mary Margaret's hand. "In our magical town with our magical mayor and our shrink who used to be a talking insect, you mean?"

"You know what I mean, Emma," she chided.

Emma had thought her mother's optimism knew no earthly bounds, but apparently, it did. Its limit was unruly teens. No wonder she taught elementary school.

"They're teenagers. You can't cure years of rejection with a bowl of hot soup and a bedtime story! It takes time. Rehabilitation takes time. For some longer than others." Emma knew a little something about rehabilitation. "I know that's hard. But where else could they go? The only people to ever escape Neverland alive are in this town. You think anyone out  _there,"_ Emma waved her arm, "will better understand what they've gone through? Will know how to help them?! I know your first instinct as a parent is to just send them away, but..."

Emma bit her lip, watching Mary Margaret's face crumple in on itself as Emma's hasty words hit home. What she wouldn't give to take them back, as she watched her mother's eyes fill with tears.

"I'm sorry," Emma said quickly, in a much softer tone. "I didn't mean..." Mary Margaret held up a hand, and Emma's apology trailed away.

"No," said Mary Margaret, her voice choked with emotion. "I know what you meant." And without another word, she turned around to open the door to the loft, and disappeared inside. Emma stayed out on the landing, her insides burning with shame.

She hadn't meant it.

Not really.

She understood why her parents had sent her through the wardrobe, even if she still resented it. But after the way she'd given up Henry, could she really claim the moral high ground? They'd done what they thought was right. And she'd done what  _she_ thought was right. And now here they were, all living with the consequences of all of those good intentions. The road to hell was paved with them, right?

The idea of following Mary Margaret into the loft after that catastrophe wasn't an appealing option. Spending a few hours down at the Rabbit Hole in her company to celebrate the upcoming wedding between a dark sorcerer and a sweet librarian who was  _way_ too good for him had also lost its luster.

So Emma pulled out her phone right there and texted her apologies to Ruby, citing Sheriff duty. The stream of emojis she received in response were not happy. She stuffed her phone back into her pocket, even as it kept buzzing every time Ruby found a new picture to express her feelings, and pulled her jacket more tightly around herself as she headed back outside onto the rapidly darkening streets of Storybrooke.

* * *

The Sheriff's station was quiet. So quiet you'd never guess there had been something akin to a riot on Main Street a few hours earlier, if it weren't for the large stack of files sat by the ancient desktop computer, and the constant buzzing of Emma's phone in her pocket, before the calls diverted to voicemail.

A Granny's to-go bag took up the remaining desk space, containing the last few onion rings Emma had bribed Henry to pick up for her, in order to avoid a run-in with Ruby. But whatever energy reserves the food had given her at first were now long gone, her eyelids growing heavier as the words on her computer screen began to swim before her eyes.

She should really get some sleep. She didn't even have to go back to the loft right away, and face the recriminations. There was a cot in the holding cell that would do just fine for the night. She'd slept on it before, her first night in Storybrooke, though that seemed like an age ago now. It was surprisingly comfortable, even if the blanket was a little scratchy. But she'd had worse.

She was broken out of her recollections by the sound of the outer door slamming shut, followed by muffled cursing. No longer alone, Emma reached down for the desk drawer where she kept her gun.

"Who's there?" she called into the darkness, hands closing over the metal.

"Not really the trusting sort, are you, Swan?" came a familiar voice, and Emma relinquished her hold on the weapon, slamming the drawer shut and standing up to confront her late night visitor.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, arms crossed over her chest as Killian Jones strode around the corner with a swish of leather and a devil-may-care grin, still looking far too attractive for a man trapped under fluorescent lighting.

She'd seen him earlier, in the middle of the fray outside the hardware store, holding off a Lost Boy brandishing a hockey stick, as she sped past in the patrol car after Curly, who'd somehow managed to commandeer Moe French's Game of Thorns delivery truck. David had mentioned Hook had helped flush out the stragglers, who weren't coming quietly, but he hadn't been at the town meeting after.

"I merely came to drop off some paperwork," he said brandishing a manila folder Emma hadn't originally noticed. "I'm to understand that in order for the ships in port to be adequately compensated for the Lost Boy's latest temper tantrum, a member of law enforcement is first required to sign it off as an act of criminal malfeasance. And I believe that as Sheriff..." he placed the file down on her desk with a flourish, "...that responsibility falls to you."

"They wrecked the Jolly Roger?" She wasn't sure exactly when she'd come to care, but for some reason, the idea of anyone messing with the ancient ship rubbed her the wrong way.

"Over my dead body," he blustered. "The Lost Boys are frightened, but they haven't entirely lost their wits. They wouldn't dare." Emma rolled her eyes at his bravado. "A few of the smaller fishing vessels were not so lucky, however, and it is on their behalf that I've been sent on this errand."

"Wait just one second," Emma said, her mind racing, raising her hand to halt his forward movement. "Errand?  _You're the new harbormaster?!_ "

"Well, seeing as the last one is now sporting scales and is lost to your Atlantic Ocean, thanks to Cora, it seems there was an opening, and I without a lawful preoccupation. Seemed like providence, no?"

Emma was still trying to wrap her head around the idea. "You've... you've got a  _job?!"_

Captain Hook, a card-carrying, tax-paying resident of Storybrooke? It did not compute.

He shrugged, leaning against her desk. "I confess, it isn't particularly challenging work. Because of the isolation afforded by the curse, there isn't much in the way of trade. Or any, to be more precise. But it does feel good to be a productive member of society again," he said with an overdramatic sigh, and a stretching of his limbs.

He almost had her. "You're so full of crap," she said, punching him in the shoulder.

"Aye," Hook chuckled lightly, rubbing his shoulder. "But I  _am_ the new harbormaster."

"Captain Hook, scourge of the seven seas, is making an honest living?"

"Is that what they call me in this land?" Emma didn't miss the way his eyes glowed at the moniker, or the way his chest puffed out with obvious pride.

"No," she corrected herself quickly, before his ego swelled too large to fit back through the door. It didn't deter him, if the wicked grin he shot her was any indication.

"Scourge of the seven seas," he repeated, letting the words fold over his tongue like an elixir. "I rather like the sound of that."

Emma snorted. "Yeah, I'll bet."

And then something occurred to her. Something that should have occurred to her sooner. Something that settled into the pit of her stomach like a stone.

"So you're really staying then? In Storybrooke. Like, permanently?" Her words were softer than before, but she didn't quite manage to keep out the tone of surprise. Her eyes flew up to his face, to gauge his truthfulness, but she was surprised to find him averting his gaze, his hand coming up to scratch behind his ear in his signature tell. He was uncomfortable. But why?

"Well lass, who is to say what is or what is not permanent in this life?" He began. "But yes, I intend to make Storybrooke my home. I think I could be happy here." His eyes wandered up to meet hers then, and for a beat or two, their gazes locked, Emma seeing more than she wished to reflected back by his blue eyes. Things she thought buried back in the jungles of Neverland. But surely that isn't what he meant. She was reading too much into it.

Shaking herself loose from the thought, Emma snatched the file Hook had left on her desk, and took a few steps back. "Well, you can consider your errand fulfilled. I'll type up the police report and send it over tomorrow. That should satisfy the insurance company."

"I'm much obliged to you," he straightened, bowing in a manner that was completely over the top, and annoyingly typical, but he didn't leave.

"Was there anything else?" She asked, after an awkward moment of silence.

He dropped his shoulders, his eyes growing softer. "You seem troubled, Swan."

_Damn him and his you're-an-open-book stupid powers of perception._

"Yeah, well, the town  _was_ just set upon by Lost Boys. It's not exactly been a day at the spa."

His brow furrowed briefly at "spa", but his all-seeing eyes didn't look away, as they considered her. "It's more than that," he said carefully. "There's a celebration, down at the Rabbit Hole, in honor of the Crocodile's upcoming nuptials. All of the heroes are there. But not you."

"I've got a lot of work to do," she protested. He merely raised a single eyebrow.

"And... I'm not in the mood to celebrate," she admitted.

"Care to elaborate on that, Swan?" He asked, taking a careful step closer.

_God, he was relentless._

"Yeah, I'm not talking about this with you," Emma sighed, as she collapsed into her desk chair, dropping the file back onto the desk and swiveling around to face him again. "You're hardly an impartial observer."

"Is that so important?" He asked, genuinely curious.

"Uh, yeah."

"Well," he shrugged, "What I lack in impartiality, I make up for with libations." He pulled his flask from the inside pocket of his long leather coat, offering it out to her.

She shot him an unconvinced look.

"I'll have you know I make an excellent confidante, Swan. And besides, who else are you going to tell?"

He had her there.

Who else indeed. Who were her friends in Storybrooke, again? The people she'd thought she could count on? Graham was gone. August was a real boy again. And Mary Margaret... yeah. Now she had a 300 year old rum-soaked pirate with a penchant for leather and a hook for a hand.

She took the offered flask, savoring the burn of the rum as it trinkled down her throat. He took the opportunity to shift the stack of files over, and perch on the edge of her desk.

"It's just a thing," she waved a hand dismissively. "A difference of opinion with Mar- my mother got out of hand. I said something I didn't mean. She's upset. And now I'm avoiding her."

"I see," he said gravely, taking the flask back, and taking a swig for himself. "Well, I don't envy you that. I've seen the Lady Snow take out an ogre with a single arrow. She's not one to be trifled with." The tone was teasing, and Emma didn't think he was giving the situation quite the gravity it deserved. "On saying that," he continued, more seriously, "I think it's quite normal for children to disappoint their parents. And you've got years of that to catch up on."

"You know what?" Emma said, snatching the flask back from his grip. "You're really not helping."

"I didn't promise you sage wisdom, Swan," he reminded her, grabbing the flask back once she'd drunk her fill. "Just rum."

"Well, I suppose that's not nothing," she muttered darkly.

"Might I inquire as to what the disagreement was about?" he asked delicately, stuffing his flask back into his coat.

"It doesn't even matter," Emma shrugged. "We don't agree on anything anymore. She used to be my best friend in this town, and now it's like she doesn't know me at all. She's too busy trying to fit me into this mold of what she thinks her daughter should be, to realize that I'm not like her. I don't see the sunny side. I don't communicate via forest creatures. I don't like frilly dresses. I'm not supposed to spend the rest of my life with the first guy I ever lo-"

_Dammit._

On a list of things  _not_ to talk about with Hook, the Neal situation was top of the list.

On the other hand, she couldn't talk to Henry about it. Ditto her parents. Their minds were awash in fairytale ideals like true love. Which was fine, if you lived in the Enchanted Forest. But Emma lived in the real world. She knew that not every frog turned into a prince, that time did not heal all wounds, and not all love lasted a lifetime.

Ruby would have loved to have this conversation, of course, but Emma didn't really trust her for this.

Hook, well, she wouldn't go so far as to say she trusted him, but she knew she could talk to him.

"Ah," he said at last. A moment of hesitation. "Are you saying you're not so keen on the reconciliation Baelfire is so set on?"

She sighed. "No, but I feel like I  _should_ want it, you know?"

A pause. "I'm not sure it works like that, love."

"Yeah," she mumbled. "That's kind of the problem."

"Well, to be fair, the man did cross realms for you. After surviving a shot from a pistol, no less. Some may consider that romantic..."  _Was he playing devil's advocate?_

"He also left me to rot in prison because a puppet told him to."

"That seems... ill-advised." There was an edge to his voice now.

"I gave birth to his son while I was shackled to a hospital bed." Emma continued. "And I gave him up because I was young and scared and I didn't know what to do. I missed out on ten years of his life. There's some things you can't forgive. There are some wounds that don't heal, no matter how much you wish they would."

"Aye," he agreed, raising his hook, a trace of humor on his lips. "I think I know a little about that."

The laughter bubbled up inside her before she could prevent it, and she buried her face in her hands to stifle the outburst.

"I'm sorry," she managed, her laughter choking into a sob as she tried to get herself under control. "That wasn't even funny."

"Relax, Swan," he smiled. "If that's the price for your laughter, I would pay it a hundred fold."

"Whoa, Shakespeare," Emma said, her mind clearing. "Careful with the poetry."

"Shake spear?" Hook repeated, lost. Emma felt the laughter threatening again, his confused expression a picture she wanted framed.

"William Shakespeare. Poet. Playwright. He's famous for unhappy endings and florid language. I think you'd really like him, actually."

"You think I'm partial to unhappy endings?" He looked almost hurt.

Emma considered this. "Depending on the person getting the unhappy ending..." she answered honestly.

Hook opened his mouth to reply, when the sound of the external door slamming shut again had them both jolting upright, heads swiveled to the entrance as Ruby Lucas stepped out into the hallway, her steps across the linoleum floor on her very high heels as ungainly as a baby giraffe.

"Emma!" she called, her words slurring slightly. "Emma!"

She stopped in her tracks when she looked up, and her drunken brain took in the sight of Emma in her desk chair, and Captain Hook sitting casually on her desk behind her.

"That... is not what I expected," Ruby blurted out.

Emma looked from Ruby back to Hook in alarm. "It's not what it looks like."

She caught Hook rolling his eyes, as he stood up beside her. "Ms. Lucas," he nodded in greeting.

Ruby pointed her figure at him accusingly. "Hot Pirate Guy who stole the magic bean and left us all to die."

"I came back!" Hook protested.

"Hrumph." Ruby dropped down into one of the chairs reserved for visitors, returning her attention to Emma. "Whale ditched me for a redhead with an overbite. I need you to shoot him for me."

"Oh, Ruby." Emma rose from her chair to comfort the girl.

"I can't believe I thought he'd changed," Ruby began to sob, a mascara-streaked tear sliding down her face.

Hook looked startled at this turn of events. True to form, even the most daring men of action were laid low by the sight of a crying woman. "And I do believe that is my cue to leave," he said, making backwards steps towards the door. He turned to Emma. "You'll be fine with her?" Emma just rolled her eyes, and nodded.

"Excellent." He clapped his hand on his hook. "Good night, Swan. Ms. Lucas. Should I happen upon the good Doctor, I'll be glad to give him hell." And with a final bow, he made his retreat out into the night.

Emma searched her desk drawers for a spare sweater, which she wrapped around Ruby's bare, heaving shoulders.

"So is... that the reason... you're not... back together... with Hot Baby Daddy?" Ruby asked, between sobs, motioning at the door from which Hook had just vacated the premises.

Emma sighed, tying the sweater at the front. "Not exactly."

"But it's a... factor, right?" She asked, eyes shining with tears.

"C'mon," Emma said, wrapping an arm around the girl's waist to steady her. "Let's get you home."


	4. Chapter 4

Hook had made his choice.

It was the second time in his long life he'd found himself under Regina's employ, and he had to confess, this time was the far more preferable experience. The work  _was_ unchallenging. He hadn't lied about that. Seafaring wasn't the most popular local pastime, and most of the vessels dotting the small harbor didn't even appear to have owners. He was the master of a very dull domain.

His predecessor, may god rest his pelagic soul, clearly hadn't been much of a record keeper. The harbormaster's designated rooms were in a state of disrepair. A broken window had let in a winter storm or two, leaving a mess of mouldy cardboard cartons, and reams of sopping, unintelligible pages, which had mostly gotten stuck together. The files that he  _had_  recovered intact were scandalously lacking in detail. Yet Hook couldn't deny that he found himself oddly content, as he expanded on the existing documentation, filling page after page with his tidy scrawl.

Regina had given him a magic box,  _a computer,_ she'd called it, on which to enter this information. She'd even gotten Henry to drop by after school and give him a rather unhelpful tutorial on how the  _Excel_ worked. It seemed easy enough, he had to admit, watching the boy fill the blank boxes with apparent ease. Less so when the lad was gone, and the white boxes replaced themselves with an image of a tropical fish, swimming in insipid circles for no apparent reason. To no one's surprise, he found he preferred the tangible reliability of quill scratching on parchment.

He'd always kept meticulous records aboard the  _Roger,_ and he called on those skills now, with the attention to regulation quite reminiscent of his short-lived naval career. Liam would have found the humor in this about-face, he thought. The delicious irony of the fearsome pirate relishing a return to protocol. But Liam would also have known him well enough to not be entirely surprised. Whilst Hook had fully thrown himself into the pirating life, the life of an outlaw and a rascal, there was no denying the inevitable draw of order. Of stability. It had called to him, as a naive young man entering His Majesty's employ, seeking a place to belong, and it called to him now in the same way, a 300 year old embittered pirate, searching for the same damned thing.

Only this time, he wasn't blindly taking orders. Not from anyone, and he'd told Regina as much when he first proposed the appointment.

"You want me to... what?" she'd said, her glass of wine paused half way to her lips.

"Make me the harbormaster," he'd repeated, his voice flat, settling in the vacant chair opposite her.

"You..." She downed the rest of her glass, still eying him with no small amount of suspicion. "You want... a  _job_?"

"Aye."

She laughed heartily, pouring herself another glass, but when she looked back up and noticed his stony expression, she quickly sobered. "You're serious?"

"Perfectly," he replied, twirling a stray cocktail straw between his fingers. "I believe the position is vacant. Your mother saw to that."

She blanched a little at the unexpected mention of Cora, but she continued to regard him with cool eyes.

"You want to stay? In _Storybrooke?_ "

"Aye," he repeated, a little more exasperated.

"You'll excuse my incredulity. You are the last person I expected to stick around. Don't you have a pirate ship with a shadow strapped to sail? Why stay in Storybrooke? You could go anywhere. Any realm you wanted." He said nothing, just continued passing the straw between his fingers with greater frequency, his face set. She considered him for a moment, frowning. "This is about your pathetic crush on Emma Swan, isn't it?"

His eyes darkened dangerously at her words, the straw crushed between clenched fingers. He was already regretting making this request. "Will you give me the position or not?" he asked, his words sharp with anger.

"Calm down, Captain," she snapped, taking another sip from her glass. "It's yours if you want it."

"Thank you," he responded tersely. And then a pause. "But I require a guarantee first."

"A guarantee?" She raised both eyebrows. "I know you're new to this realm, pirate, but generally there is some kind of waiting period before you start throwing demands around."

"Humor me," he said, his voice level.

"What kind of guarantee?" She asked carefully, making it abundantly clear she wasn't in the habit of signing blank checks.

"Autonomy," he replied smoothly, tucking the now slightly crumpled straw behind one ear. "I understand the harbor falls under your control, like the rest of this accursed town, but I want all maritime matters to end with me, at my discretion."

"That sounds like a recipe for a soaring bootlegging trade," she muttered darkly, but he didn't alter his determined expression.

"I don't take orders-" he began, calmly.

"Unless she's blonde and wearing a red leather jacket, right?" Regina cut in, her lips curling in amusement.

Hook studiously ignored her, repeating his carefully prepared words. "I don't take orders. I'll keep your peace, but I won't let my role be dictated by the whims of the powerful."

Her smile waned, as she continued to look at him, trying to figure him out. "You think I care about a few rusty fishing boats?" She seemed genuinely confused by his request.

"Your word, Regina." His tone was cold.

She still seemed puzzled by him, but relented anyway. "Fine. You have my word. The docks are all yours." She waved a hand in the air. "No interference. You can be your own little navy of one."

He blew out a relieved breath, and the tension in his jaw eased almost immediately.

"But..." She rose a finger in warning, "If I find out you're using the position to start a smuggling operation, or an unlicensed moonshine distillery, or whatever it is you like to do in your spare time, I  _will_ intervene."

"Understood," he responded gravely, extending his hand across the table. "We have an accord?"

Regina reached across, shaking his hand firmly. "Welcome to Storybrooke, Captain."

* * *

It wasn't an entirely smooth transition into his new life.

The attack by the Lost Boys was an unexpected complication. He'd readily agreed to help the Prince round up the last of them, but doing so had cost him. At least one of the little urchins had stopped by in his absence, with one of the unclaimed vessels succumbing to fire, and another to a barrage of shots from what David later explained to be a  _paintball gun_.

The clean-up set him back weeks, even if he did take some dark delight in the excuse to cross paths with his Swan again, however briefly.

Which is not to say that he didn't see her often. Storybrooke was a small town, after all, with a small range of dining establishments. The Widow Lucas had warmed to him considerably since the business with the magic bean. A process which may have been helped along by the doubloons he pressed gratefully into her palm at the conclusion of every meal, though her granddaughter remained unmoved, her dark-lidded eyes narrowing suspiciously every time he took a seat at the counter.

He made certain never to exactly time his visits to theirs, but even so, barely a day went by without an encounter or two with the extended Charming family. She was rarely alone. They seemed to move as a unit these days, from the Sheriff's Station, to the apartment, to Granny's and back. They were at least three abreast on the sidewalk, striding with purpose, always bouncing from one crisis to the next.

Henry always offered him a friendly wave when he saw him, and asked after his skills with the magic box. The Prince usually made an effort to stop and make polite small-talk, even when he could see his wife beside him growing impatient with them. The Lady Snow rarely acknowledged him directly, though he caught her watching him sometimes, less in the lascivious way he'd grown accustomed to from the fairer sex, and more as if she were trying to determine his motives by the sheer force of her stare alone. Baelfire made a point of clapping him on the shoulder and asking after his piracy career, dead in the water though it was. Even Regina offered curt greetings when their paths crossed.

And the Lady Swan herself?

She didn't ignore him, exactly. She was busy. That was the standard line. She looked it too, her face drawn, worn thin. Each precious conversation was polite, but hurried. Always on the way to somewhere else. But every once in a while their eyes would lock, even across the room, and her lips would curve into the beginnings of a smile. For a few moments, she'd forget herself. And then she'd inevitably catch herself, and hurry off to confront the next danger facing their town, Hook stamping down the urge to follow her.

She clearly hadn't yet told Baelfire what she'd shared with him that night in the Sheriff's station, her worry that she never would be able to forgive him his earlier betrayal. He was still hanging around as if he were the clear front-runner for the lady's affections, always playing some starring role in the constant quest to save Storybrooke. So until Emma told him otherwise, Hook would keep his distance. He would keep his word.

Perhaps Emma could find it in herself to forgive her former lover. To begin again. It wasn't impossible. Hook had secretly thought that she was too much like himself, too cynical, to ever let that happen. But her improving relationship with Regina, who'd committed far worse atrocities, gave him pause.

Storybrooke was a place for second chances. It was practically the town motto. He'd never considered what a curse that could be.

* * *

The other complication to his integration into Storybrooke life took a more innocent form, though proved to be no less destructive.

Tinker Bell.

Still stripped of her wings, and searching out any way to get back into the Blue Fairy's good graces, the Lady Bell had taken it upon herself to do as many good deeds as possible. And for some reason, she had fixated her efforts on Hook.

"So is this really what you do all day?" she asked with an air of incredulity, taking a careful step into the musty confines of his office.

"Aye," he replied tersely, seated on the floor behind a wall of of manila folders, raising his arms to indicate the endless stacks of paper. "This is it."

"Uh huh," she replied, unimpressed, picking her way across the floor littered with paperwork until she collapsed in his chair, leaning back to rest her feet on his desk.

"I'm making a valuable contribution," he grumbled, returning to scanning the incomplete maintenance logs.

A noise escaped the fairy's throat, something halfway between a cough and a snort.

"You disagree?" He peered over his manila tower to fix her with a glare, one eyebrow raised, daring her to contradict him.

"Well..." she cocked her head to one side, as if considering the question seriously, "I did hear rumors of a Bandersnatch wandering the woods west of town. And last week wasn't there a Cyclops tearing up the main street?" She gave the tiny room another once over, her gaze taking in the dusty windowsills and gaudy interior furnishings. "You don't think your talents are a little... wasted here?"

"If the heroes want my help, they know where to find me." He pulled the small device the Prince had given him after the fight with the Lost Boys out of his pocket, and waved it in front of her. "And there's always the talking phone. "

She fixed him a look that let him know she was not convinced.

"You're different," she said suddenly.

_Why did everyone in his life feel compelled to point this out of late?_

"The pirate I met in Neverland never would have ignored any mention of his talents without following it up without at least three innuendos," she continued, sitting up and dragging her boots off the desk to look at him properly. "Wow. You really need my help."

Now it was Hook's turn to snort.

"As much as I appreciate your meddling," he began, words dripping in sarcasm, "I assure you, I am in no need of your fairy assistance." He paused. "Unless you know how to operate that blasted magic box," he gestured at the computer sitting on his desk. "I'm afraid I'm quite at a loss."

Her attention shifted to the device before her, considering it with no small amount of suspicion. She reached out, striking a key with her index finger at random, and shrinking back in alarm when the image on the screen suddenly changed.

Hook sighed. "I thought not."

The next few minutes passed in peaceable silence; the fairy fascinated by the computer, Hook finally making progress with pairing the correct maintenance logs to the corresponding vessels. It took some time. His knowledge of twenty first century watercraft was expanding at an impressive rate, bolstered by the reading materials he had spirited from the public library under cover of darkness, but some of the modern terms still left him mystified. The concept of a  _GPS_ was going to take some further study.

The peace was shattered by a sudden incongruous mechanical trill, which so startled them both that Tinker Bell jumped from her seat in alarm, and Hook knocked over a stack of incident reports. Sighing in delayed realization, she pulled a device not dissimilar to Hook's own talking phone from her jacket pocket, and made a few experimental swipes with her thumb, smiling as the device came to life in her hand.

"It's Ba- Neal," she corrected herself, peering down to read the message. "They found the Bandersnatch. Emma trapped it with her magic and David stabbed it in the heart with his sword." She looked up to gauge Hook's reaction, smiling when he saw him visibly react at the sound of her name, as she knew he would.

"And there's a party at Granny's to celebrate..."

His frown deepened as he saw the beginnings of another ill-advised scheme solidifying behind her growing smile.

"No," he countered. "Absolutely not."

* * *

If only that had been the end of it.

If only that blasted fairy hadn't made it her mission to make his life a living hell with all of her  _good intentions._

Not only had she forced him to attend a gathering to which he was not invited, attended by a handful of people he had been very careful to avoid, but there was also the small matter of costume.

"Have you ever noticed that you are the only one in this town who still insists on looking like he caught the last magic portal out of the Enchanted Forest?" She had said, eying him up and down with something bordering on disdain.

He had scowled, looking down at his usual pirate garb. The vest. The boots. The jacket.

"It's always worked for me," he shrugged. Call him a creature of habit, but this had been his standard look for centuries, and it hadn't ever done him any harm with the lasses.

"Yes, but it doesn't really send the right message, does it?" She countered, circling him with a critical eye. "For all your talk about  _valuable contributions,_ it still looks like your being here is just a temporary fancy." She took a step forwards, chin raising with self-righteous intent. "If you really are staying in Storybrooke, shouldn't you look the part?"

 _Bloody fairy._  She'd always been a wily one.

So here he was, shuffling closer to Granny's in Storybrooke's back alleys, half-hidden by long afternoon shadows, clad in snug, foreign fabrics, and feeling a complete fool.

The woman who had sold him the garments had assured him that his new outfit was in keeping with the fashions of this realm. He had to admit, he had seen the Prince sporting a similar ensemble once or twice. He looked fine, the shopkeeper assured him. Better than fine, even. He'd seen that familiar gleam of appreciation behind her eyes, before he'd exited the shop with a gracious nod, his pockets a few coins lighter.

He still felt ridiculous. Obvious. Like he was holding a sign above his head which screamed, "I AM MAKING AN OVERTURE!"

Captain Hook had not dramatically altered his appearance for centuries, unless one counted for the purpose of subterfuge. Breaking into Regina's castle. Masquerading as a blacksmith in Lancelot's Safe Haven. That business in the hospital didn't count, because they'd taken his clothes whilst he'd been rendered unconscious, outfitting him instead in a rather impractically indecent shift and robe. Those bastards.

But this was different.

This was something else entirely.

Ruby was the first to notice. She'd seated herself outside, absently sipping at a frosted glass at one of the many empty tables as he approached, but as soon as he drew closer she turned her head, senses alerted. She rose to her feet in an instant, her beverage forgotten on the table as she closed the few steps between them, blocking his path.

He hadn't picked up on it at first, but now he knew better, her wolfish qualities were obvious. The way her eyes scanned him through narrowed lids. The subtle flare of the nostrils. The slight tilt of her neck, like a hunting dog awaiting confirmation for a kill.

Hook took an involuntary step back.

"It's impolite to stare," he said eventually, when it appeared she wasn't going to say anything.

"Is this a permanent thing?" She asked at last, gesturing at the clothes.

He resisted the urge to look down, settling instead for absently fiddling with the sleeves of his newer, shorter leather jacket. "Would that be so terrible?"

Her expression was unchanged. She was still considering him with that same frightening severity. After a few awkward moments, where Hook debated just heading back to the  _Jolly_ , she stepped aside to let him past.

Relieved at having apparently passed some unspoken test, he offered a small nod, before he taking a step towards Granny's front door, but paused when the lass spoke again.

"I hope you mean it. She deserves that much."

He didn't nod this time. He didn't say a word. He just kept walking, taking the last few steps until he was grasping the door handle, and felt himself drowned in the din of Storybrooke's latest celebration.

* * *

Tinker Bell hadn't mentioned anything about the Crocodile being there, seated in a corner booth with his new bride sitting proudly beside him, like the ornament she was, both of them awash in that smug newly married happiness which prickled uncomfortably under his skin. Baelfire sat opposite them, and the three of them looked to be having a perfectly cordial conversation, Bae sat directly across from his mother's murderer.

He could feel his hand tightening into a fist of its own accord, until a pen rapped across his knuckles, pulling him from his rapidly darkening thoughts.

"A beer for you, Captain?" Granny asked, placing her pen back inside her apron. Her expression was stern, as it always was, but as her eyes flitted to where Hook's attention had been, and back to him, he could have sworn he saw a hint of softness.

"A beer would grand," he breathed, reaching into his jacket for a coin. His hand froze as she reached across to gain a surprisingly gentle grip on his arm.

"On the house, Captain," she said in a way left no room for argument.

"I'm much obliged," he grinned, offering her a salacious wink. She withdrew her hand, rolling her eyes good-naturedly, and turned away to prepare his ale.

"Nice duds," she remarked, as she slid his chilled glass across the counter towards him. At his confusion, she motioned at his new jacket. "Setting down roots?" She asked politely, her attention already waning as she made eye contact with a waiting customer to his left.

"Something like that," he replied, as he swiveled his chair around to survey the rest of the establishment, his knees knocking straight into the denim clad legs of precisely the person he was both looking for, and most dreading to see.

The one and only Emma Swan.

"Apologies, love," he said, rising from his seat in an instant, leaning a hand on her arm to steady her. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

She looked as if she was about to retort with some self-effacing comment, when she caught a good look at him, and froze like she'd stared into the eyes of a Gorgon, her arm gone rigid under his hand.

She swallowed visibly.

"You look..." she began, her eyes raking his form with apparent interest, even as the rest of her seemed immobile.

 _All was forgiven._  The next chance he got, he was going to send Tinker Bell a basket of fruit. Treasure. Anything she so desired. He'd lobby the Blue Fairy on her behalf day and night until she got her wings back.

"I know," he answered quickly, saving her from having to form descriptive words. He couldn't resist imbuing the words with a flash of a smile. She knew she found him attractive, but it never hurt to be reminded, and her momentary lapse flooded him with dark delight.

She seemed to shake herself a little at last, snatching her arm back out of his grasp. "I'm the one who should be apologizing. My fault. But it is kind of crowded in here, right?"

For a moment, he hoped that was the opening line of some proposition. He couldn't deny he'd used that exact line before, to great effect. But when her gaze fanned across the room, he saw it for what it was: a way for her to deflect his attention from her flushed cheeks, and he obliged, scanning the diner, which really was packed to the rafters with all kinds of fairytale creatures, well into their cups.

Even so, he saw Emma's parents ensconced in a booth nearby with Regina and Henry, Mary Margaret casting glances their way every few moments to let him know that  _She. Was. Expected. Back._

"I heard you took down a Bandersnatch today, Swan," he continued, not willing for the conversation to end just yet. "I can't say I ever encountered one during my travels to Wonderland. Are they really as fast as the tales say?"

Emma gave a bitter laugh, taking a sip from the flute of sparkling wine Hook hadn't noticed she'd been holding. "Faster."

Something about the way she said it, battle-worn and weary, made Hook's insides clench, as he scanned her for noticeable injuries. And then he saw it, the tiny strip of tape half hidden by her hairline, keeping a small cut on her forehead closed. He felt himself reaching for it before he could stop himself, regretting it immediately when she flinched at his touch.

"It's nothing," she replied quickly, taking a longer sip of wine. "Just a scratch."

"Emma-" He took a step forward, but his advance was interrupted by a horde of dwarves jostling past, their eye caught by some delicacy Granny had just taken from the oven.

She gave him a rueful smile over the expanse of heads between them, and motioned back to her waiting family.

"I've gotta go. But I'm fine. I promise."

He didn't entirely believe her, even as he turned back to the counter to find his pint of ale long gone.

_Bloody dwarves._

* * *

Tinker Bell did eventually make an appearance, though he could tell her daily pleading session with the Blue Fairy had gone badly, if her drinking habits were any indication.

 _"What are you doing?"_ she had hissed, when he'd taken a seat beside her outside, where she had clearly intended to drink herself into a stupor with a curiously green liquid.

"I should ask you the same thing," he replied, pulling her glass from her hand so that he could examine it more closely. "What the bloody hell kind of potion is this?"

"It's not a potion," she grumbled, snatching back her glass. "It's Midori."

"It  _glows,_ " he countered, lip curling in distaste.

"That is most of the appeal," she admitted, slumping down in her seat, elbows on the table. "And what do you think you're doing? You're supposed to be winning the heart of your true l-"

Hook clapped his hand over her mouth, sneaking a furtive glance around to make sure no one had heard her. The courtyard was sparsely populated by a handful of people Hook recognized vaguely as the baker and his wife, and the fearsome woman who ran the butchers shop, and her two insipid apprentices. If they'd heard the fairy, they gave no indication.

"We talked about this," he warned, his voice growing colder. "You promised you would keep your romantic flights of fancy to yourself. Remember?" She rolled her eyes, but gave a reluctant nod, and Hook lifted his hand away.

"She seemed to like the new garments," he offered gruffly, as an olive branch.

Tinker Bell just frowned into her glass, struggling to place the straw between her teeth.

Ten minutes later she was passed out, snoring softly, head resting in her arms, the  _Midori_ concoction still in her clutches. He gently prised it from her grip, and briefly debated leaving her outside, as punishment for her interference. But his better nature, whatever was left, won out, and he gathered the sleeping fairy in his arms and carried her upstairs to her quarters, taking a short detour to locate Granny's spare keys.

Once he was sure the fairy was comfortable, and not likely to freeze during the night, he opened the door with nary a squeak of hinges, and edged back out into the hall. Right into the path of Emma Swan, who was coming out of the room opposite.

"Oof," he felt the breath force from his lungs as she ran into his chest, and he fell backwards, scrambling for purchase against the door he'd just closed. He landed against it with a thud, but Emma remained upright, just, looming over him.

He opened his mouth to apologize,  _again,_ for his clumsiness, when he caught the look in her eye.

 _Panicked._  Panicked? And then the door opposite opened again, and Baelfire stepped out into the hall, ostensibly to check on the commotion, and Hook felt his heart drop into his stomach.

He'd just interrupted Emma's exit from Baelfire's quarters.

* * *

Maybe it was innocent. Maybe it was not. All he knew, he had no desire to remain where he was, watching the two of them cast furtive glances back and forth as he struggled to get to his feet.

"Hook," Bae's voice conveyed what an unwelcome surprise this was. Hook watched as he placed a hand on Emma's forearm then, and she didn't shy away, instead offering him a small smile in return. Hook felt the hot stab in his stomach at their easy intimacy. Then he watched Bae's eyes drift up to the room number of the room Hook had himself exited, and his brows knit together.

"Tink?" Baelfire asked, his mouth opening slightly in surprise. Emma, still standing still beside him snapped her eyes back to Hook at once, and he saw the earlier panic behind her eyes recede. Something else crept in instead. Something sharp and jagged, and for some reason, this pleased him.

"Perhaps," he replied noncommittally, with a shrug, watching Emma's eyes grown colder still. "A very pleasant night to you both," he called, as nonchalantly as he could, turning down the hallway, taking great care not to trip on the rug, as he headed for the back stairs.

"G'night," he heard Bae call back, in a perplexed tone. Emma didn't say a word.

Once he was out of sight, he leaned heavily against one of Granny's many floral-printed walls, his fist clenched at his side, resisting the urge to punch a hole through it.

He was a bloody fool. Playing the man of honor. All the while, letting the woman he... cared for... fall back into the hands of a man who had hurt her and betrayed her. It was as he'd told the Crocodile, long before he became that creature,  _a man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets._

He'd stepped aside, and in doing so, he'd lost her.

He just knew it.

In the end, he didn't punch a hole through Granny's drywall, though it was a near thing. But he did lift her finest bottle of whiskey as he left, a stack of gold coins left in recompense.


	5. Chapter 5

The moment Belle had let out a squeak of recognition, running forward to drop a dusty volume on the table and tap the crude illustration with her index finger, Emma's heart had sunk. Of all the creatures to be roaming the woods of  _her_ town?

Emma had only read  _Through The Looking Glass_  once as a child. It was a battered copy she'd found lying forgotten on a shelf in a group home somewhere in Western Massachusetts. It had resonated with her at the time, the idea of stepping through a mirror and into another world. She figured that even a world full of things that made no sense was better than the one she lived in, and she'd spent far too much time considering the bathroom mirror, wishing it would let her in. It never did, of course. With every glide of her hand it had always remained disappointingly solid.

She'd only been there a couple of weeks, before moving on to her next foster family, and she'd left the book behind. She couldn't even remember the name of the town anymore. But she remembered that one line. The one about the Bandersnatch.

_"You might as well try to catch a Bandersnatch!"_

_Great._

Emma didn't know how many fairytale monsters they'd vanquished at this point, but it was starting to become a bit of a joke. Sleepy Maine towns, cursed or no, should  _not_ require this much saving.

She hadn't had a day off in... she couldn't remember. Though Belle was quick to come to his defense, she knew Gold had been behind this one. It was no coincidence that the man they'd found ripped apart by the beast had evidently purchased a talisman from the pawnbroker the day before.

Emma didn't believe in coincidences.

She'd thought the presence of Belle and Neal would be enough to keep him on the straight and narrow, but maybe that had just been wishful thinking. He was Henry's grandfather, after all. She didn't  _want_ him to be the villain of the piece. He'd vehemently denied the charge, of course, claiming ignorance about the talisman's magical properties, which apparently included summoning tusky beasts from other realms.

Like hell he didn't.

But Emma couldn't prove it. She had to admit that even if he  _was_ guilty, there wasn't a hell of a lot she could do about it. She may have had a little magic, but he was the Dark One, and she shuddered to think what kind of havoc he could wreak if he was properly motivated.

Going off into the woods half-cocked after a fairytale creature that was most often characterized as  _"frumious"_  wasn't exactly her idea of a good plan. And yet, when Belle's research indicated that Bandersnatches were notoriously stupid, as well as notoriously fast, she'd been overrruled, as the others went about gathering weapons for their hunting party.

The trap had been her idea, though David and Neal had both fought to be the first to object to her role as live bait.

Mary Margaret had tracked the creature as far as the stream, where it had remained, dozing quietly behind a boulder, its muzzle still caked with the blood of its latest kill. To Emma, it just looked like a huge razorback, with maybe a few more tusks and teeth than were strictly necessary. Until she saw it move. No razorback ever moved like  _that._

Her plan had been simple enough, really. Lure the beast into a small canyon, and get Regina up on top to barbeque it with one of her fireballs. She hadn't really taken into account the sheer speed of the thing. The first fireball missed, and Emma had only just rolled out of the way in time before she became impaled on those dangerous looking tusks, pulling her gun from her waistband and firing off a shot. To her dismay, even though she was sure she'd gotten a clean shot between the eyes, it didn't seem to slow down any, doubling back for a second charge.

Panicking a little, she glanced back up to the walls of the canyon, where David was scrambling down as fast as he could with a sword in his hand, and Regina was still shooting off fireballs, which only seemed to annoy the creature even more, leaving the acrid smell of singed hair in its wake.

As Emma locked eyes with the crazed beast as it started its next approach, she pictured the mangled mess they'd found that had been the Bandersnatch's first victim. That would be her, next. Then David, as he tried in vain to save her. Stupid, gallant David, who she took after in ways that she couldn't even name yet. Blinking the image of his mangled corpse from her mind, she took a deep breath, raised her hands in front of her and felt the familiar pull in her gut as she drew on the only weapon she had left at her disposal.

_Magic._

She succeeded in stopping the beast. What she maybe hadn't accounted for, was its remaining momentum. Though she ducked the razor sharp tusks, it still struck her like a freight train, pulling the air from her lungs and slamming her against the rocky wall of the canyon, her head cracking against something hard.

"Emma!" She heard someone cry, as she fought to get to her feet. She didn't succeed, wobbling a moment before falling back onto her knees.

"You're bleeding." She looked up to see Neal leaning over her, a hand cupping her face. She was preparing to bat him away when she was distracted by his other hand. There was blood on it. Her blood, apparently.

"Why are there two of you?" She asked him, trying to stand up again.

"Whoa, there," he said, putting an arm around her to take her weight. "Why don't you try sitting down?" She shook her head, but the movement sent a shock wave of pain through her skull, and she succumbed to the laws of gravity at last, falling against him finally.

"Regina!" he shouted. "You'd better get over here!"

She appeared instantly in a flume of purple smoke, her jaw tight, as she crouched down beside them. David came running up at the same time, wiping his sword on his jeans, a worried look in her eyes.

"Dead?" she found herself asking, even as she reached out a hand to steady herself. Things were coming back into focus now, but she still felt a little woozy.

"It's dead," he confirmed with a tight smile, reaching over to take Neal's place at her side. "Sword to the heart should do it." His hand came up to graze her forehead, Emma wincing when he made contact with her wound. David turned to Regina with a frown. "Can you fix it?"

Regina eyes scanned her carefully. "I can," she answered at last. "But it's probably just a minor concussion. How many fingers am I holding up?" she asked, holding up three fingers in front of her face.

"Three," Emma replied, rolling her eyes.

Regina nodded, satisfied. "It's up to Emma, of course, but I think she'll be fine."

"Ems?" It was Neal this time, waiting for her verdict.

"I'm okay," she said quickly, trying to get to her feet again. She actually managed this time, though she swayed on the spot a little, and she caught the unconvinced look in David's eye. "Just... ah... can we take it slow?" He nodded, putting a steadying arm around her.

"We'll take it as steady as you like," he murmured, supporting her weight as they began their slow climb out of the canyon, back towards a fretting Mary Margaret.

* * *

This was one celebration she'd actually been excused from. And though the idea of staying home to watch Netflix with a bowl of popcorn had its appeal, she knew that she wouldn't really be alone. She had a suspected concussion, and she knew Mary Margaret was looking for any excuse to hover.

They'd patched things up after the Lost Boys debacle. At least, they'd returned to their usual relationship of Mary Margaret trying just a bit too hard, and Emma swallowing down the urge to storm off like a moody teenager. But she missed her best friend. And she was so sick of walking on eggshells. So maybe that's why she'd confided in her about her suspicions about Gold, stopped on the sidewalk on the way to Granny's.

"I don't know..." Mary Margaret had begun, eyes wary. "Tangling with Rumpelstiltskin never ends well." Emma's mind flashed briefly to Hook. His severed hand. His broken heart. His centuries spent hell-bent on vengeance. No, it never did. But she wanted to  _know._

"If we don't find a motive, I'll let it go. Hell, if we  _do_ find a motive, there probably isn't much we can do about it. But if we're going to have the guy living in this town with us, I at least want to know what we're dealing with. Don't you?"

Mary Margaret sighed loudly, but she allowed herself to be led back in the direction of the Sheriff's Station.

"You're  _supposed_  to be resting," she chided, but Emma brushed off her concern with a roll of her eyes. She'd taken some aspirin, and her head barely ached at all anymore. She'd had more serious injuries chasing after bail jumpers, and her fair share of concussions. She'd be fine.

An initial search didn't bring up any obvious link between Gold and the deceased. He'd been Gold's tenant, sure, but then again, in Storybrooke, who wasn't? If there had ever been a problem between the two, it wasn't on file. Not that there was a database that contained all the grudges that had transferred over from the Enchanted Forest, exactly. She should really start one of those. It would come in so handy.

A gentle tutting from Mary Margaret had Emma glancing up at the clock. Okay, so they were kind of late for the party. With a reluctant, "Just a sec," Emma swept her notes into her desk drawer, along with her gun, making sure to lock it securely, and pulled on her jacket. Sleuthing could wait.

* * *

The minute she entered the diner, her mother at her side, the gathering crowd let out a raucous cheer, and she found a glass of champagne pushed into her hand.

"Nice job," Ruby said, giving her a short hug.

"Way to go, Savior," Bashful (she thought it was Bashful?) said, knocking his glass with hers.

She didn't think she would ever get used to this part. She saw the logic in it, she guessed. It was what David had said, celebrating the little moments. She got that. But she wasn't sure if she would ever get used to walking into a room packed with people, and having them cheer her name. It felt... weird. Like she'd stepped through a mirror into an alternate reality. And looking at all of the shiny, slightly inebriated faces of all of those people she had declared herself responsible for... it felt a little daunting.

She was trying to ignore that feeling, that familiar surge of uncertainty, instead trying to search for an opening in conversation to broach the subject of the fairytale identity of the dead man.  _She really should make that database too,_ she thought. She figured that if no one knew him personally, there was always the chance he appeared in the book. And no one knew that thing better than Henry. But he was caught up in the middle of a dramatic recollection of his day spent with Belle and Ariel at the beach, and she didn't have the heart to interrupt him. She conceded meeting a mermaid for the first time would be kind of exciting, if the mermaid wasn't trying to kill you at the time.

Finding her drink suddenly empty, she rose quietly from her seat, indicating her empty flute, and set off to find another. No sooner had she swiped one off a tray than she quite literally ran into the last person she expected to see in the middle of a Granny's celebration.

Hook.

She'd seen him around, of course. Small town and all that. But she'd gotten the distinct impression he'd been purposefully laying low these past few weeks. Or maybe it was just his new job that was keeping him busy.  _Harbormaster._ That was never not going to be weird to her.

His effusive apology interrupted her thoughts, and she made to apologize for her own klutzy behavior when the sight in front of her suddenly came into hard focus. He wasn't wearing his signature jacket. In fact, as she let her eyes dip below his neck, she could see he had retained precious little of his usual pirate garb.

The chains around his neck had remained. As had the rings on his hands, and the tendency towards leaving more buttons undone than strictly necessary.

But the rest? All twenty-first century man. And he looked  _good._

Black skinny jeans. Motorcycle boots. A button-up and a vest, enclosed in a shorter, more modern cut leather jacket. She made to comment on the wardrobe change, without over-inflating his ego, but she found the words evaporating on her tongue.

Sure, he was hot, but was that any reason for her to fall into a puddle at his feet? She'd always prided herself on not falling for his pretty face and smooth moves. She went to try again, but he cut her off, a grin spreading across his face at her befuddled reaction. Not that she could help it, exactly. It was an involuntary physical response, and his close proximity, his hand on her arm, wasn't helping matters. God, she was making a mess of this. She tried to reign herself in, breaking their contact.

"I'm the one who should be apologizing. My fault. But it is kind of crowded in here, right?" She turned her face away then, trying to hide the burn of her cheeks from his searching gaze.

She let her attention wander to the gathered crowd. Michael Tillman from the auto shop was there with the twins, digging into a bunch of ice cream sundaes, looking every part the happy family. That was good. Speaking of happy families, Neal was in the back, tucked into a booth with Gold and Belle. As her gaze swept over them, the elder man seemed to notice her attention, his curious gaze meeting hers from across the room, and she felt a cold prickle of fear on the back of her neck, though she couldn't say why. She hurried to turn her attention back to the pirate in front of her. Even if he didn't look like a pirate, exactly. Not anymore.

"I heard you took down a Bandersnatch today, Swan," he continued, apparently not prepared for her to walk away just then. "I can't say I ever encountered one during my travels to Wonderland. Are they really as fast as the tales say?"

Emma resisted the urge to snort about his Wonderland comment.  _Of course_  he'd been to Wonderland. Was there any realm he hadn't been to? And then she remembered his question and thought of her encounter with the beast earlier. The way it had practically blurred in front of her as it moved, unbothered by fire and bullets. She gave a wry chuckle, taking the first sip of her drink. "Faster."

And then he did that thing. That reading her thing. The thing she hated. His gaze was drawn immediately to the butterfly stitch on her forehead, the one she had  _tried_ to cover with her hair, and she saw the flash of concern in his blue eyes.

She was almost relieved when a group of dwarves came between them, worked up into a lather over a fresh tray of Granny's homemade brownies, drowning out her assurances that she was fine. He shouldn't be looking at her like that. They were barely friends. Casual acquaintances who'd climbed a beanstalk together and made out in a jungle one time. That didn't give him the right to see right through her.

She hurried back to her booth, flute grasped almost painfully in her hand, squeezing in next to David.

"He looks different, right?" Emma turned to see her father indicating back to the pirate, who had sat back down at the counter, gesturing for another beer. Emma tried to control her blush. All the better if David didn't know  _exactly_ what she thought of Hook's new makeover. "I guess he's really serious."

"Serious?" She asked absently, reaching across the table to steal a french fry from Henry's plate.

"About staying. For good. Honestly, I'm kind of surprised."

"Yeah," she said softly, washing it down with a sip of champagne. "You're not the only one."

Reaching for the next french fry, she caught Regina's eye across the table, the mayor merely raising a single, knowing eyebrow. Emma made a point of consciously ignoring her, and directing her attention back to Henry, who was still caught up in telling his story.

If Hook had really decided to stay in Storybrooke, it had nothing to do with her. And if it did... if it did, she'd deal with that when she was ready.

* * *

She ducked out into the hallway to the B&B as soon as she could, one of Granny's brownies clutched in her hand, still warm from the oven. There were some perks to this Savior business. No matter how often she railed against it, she did kind of love this town. It had given her more than she ever thought she could have. A son. Parents. A real purpose. But there was such a thing as too much of a good thing, and watching the seven dwarves form a conga line had  _definitely_ pushed that boundary. Also her headache was back with a vengeance, and she needed a bit of quiet.

Not that it lasted very long. She was only two mouthfuls down on her brownie when the door swung open, and Neal's face popped around it, eyes searching until they landed on Emma, sitting at the bottom of the stairs, cheeks full of delicious brownie goodness, and crumbs all down her shirt.

He chuckled a little at the sight, loping over to fall down beside her.

"You've never been a very classy eater."

She snorted, throwing a hand in front of her face to block his view. "Great," she managed, when she finally swallowed, her lips pressing into a wry smile. "Now I feel self-conscious. You've official ruined this brownie for me. Are you happy?"

He laughed, his head falling back a little. "Hey, I didn't say it wasn't cute!"

He realized at once that wasn't the right thing to say, when she stiffened beside him.

"Ems," he said softly, taking the brownie from her fingers and placing it down on the napkin. He reached for her hands again, taking them in his. "You've gotta know, Emma. That I still feel-"

The door to the diner swung open again then, and Emma snatched her hands back into her lap, standing up abruptly, as one of the townsfolk scurried past, heading for the bathroom. Only once the door was shut securely behind them, did Neal speak again, pulling himself up to stand beside her.

"We've been dancing around this for  _months,_ Emma. We need to talk." His brown eyes had rarely looked so serious, and Emma knew that she'd run to the end of her rope. The conversation she'd been putting off? He was right. They needed to have it. Even if she would rather do  _literally_   _anything_ else.

"You're right," she said quietly, resigned. "But not..." she indicated the hallway, where everyone and their fairy godmother could walk on in, "...here."

He nodded once. "My room." He indicated up the stairs. Emma felt herself physically shrink from his suggestion. "Just to talk, Ems. I promise," he said quickly, his eyes crinkling in the corners a little, pulling at her better nature. He meant it. Letting out a deep breath, she gave a small nod, following him upstairs a few paces behind.

When they got into his room, she looked around for somewhere to sit. The bed seemed too... intimate, tacky floral bedspread and all, and there was only one chair. Self-consciously, she lowered herself onto the floor, crossing her legs indian-style, and patted the carpet in front of her.

"This okay?" she asked shyly, glancing up at him.

"Sure," he replied, lowering himself slowly to kneel in front of her, like she was a skittish mare. Which was not an entirely erroneous comparison, if she thought about it. She felt like she was about to bolt. Or throw up. Maybe both.

She opened her mouth to speak, expecting him to beat her to the punch, but he didn't. So with some hesitation, she began, the words that she'd been trying to string together these last few months coming out at last.

"I know you care about me-"

"I'm in love with you," he corrected. He sounded so sure of himself. It stunned her momentarily, the confidence of it, before she remembered she had more to say. So much more.

"I know you care about me," she continued. "And I care about you too." She averted her eyes from the smile which she knew was spreading across his face, and focused on the threadbare carpet between them. "I think you are a surprisingly good father, considering how little practice you've had, and I'm happy Henry has that. That he has  _you._  I  _want_  him to have people around him that love him, and that will fight for him. He deserves that."

She could feel the tears pricking her eyes, her voice beginning to waver. "I know you want us to get back together. To be a real family..."

She glanced back up at him then, and she felt something stab painfully into her chest as she watched the flicker of sad realization flooding into those friendly eyes. "There's a  _"but"_  missing there, right?" he said sardonically.

"When you left-" He went to interrupt her, but she held up a hand to stop him. "I know  _why_ you did it. Hell, now I know Gold I kind of  _understand_ why you did it. It's not like you knew about Henry.  _I_ didn't even know about him at the time. But... when you left, it caused a lot of damage. I've never been great at the trust thing." A small huff of agreement. "And when you left... it kind of tore me apart. And the only way I found to cope was to just block everything, block every _one_ out. It wasn't until Henry came and found me that I even  _tried_ to let someone in again. And I'm getting better. I know I am."

 _"But?_ " His smile was wry. Sad.

"But I can't be with you again." She felt a tear slide down her cheek. "Not in the way we were. I want you to stay. For Henry. I want to be able to talk to you, and listen to your laugh, and tell him stories about what stupid kids we were. But..." She closed her eyes as the unshed tears stung her eyelids. "I can't trust my heart to you again. There's too much hurt there. I won't ever be over it. I've worn it as armor for too long. It wouldn't be fair of me to..." her voice cracked.

"Hey," he said, reaching across to gently grab her hand in his, as she started to cry, rubbing a cool thumb along her knuckles. "It's okay, Ems."

"Do you hate me?" she choked out, between sobs.

"No," he responded slowly. "I don't hate you. I'm a little disappointed..." He gave a self-deprecating chuckle.

"You're taking it like a pro," she smiled, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her free hand. "Do you have any Kleenex?"

"Sure, I have a some somewhere." He jumped up and began searching through his drawers, pausing when he opened the bottom drawer. But it wasn't a packet of tissue he pulled out after a few minutes of rustling. Rather, a sword. Or to be more precise, his cutlass.

"Change your mind about hating me?" She joked, crawling over to where he knelt, blade stretched between his hands.

Shaking himself a little, he dropped it back into the drawer, pulling out instead a somewhat squashed, but otherwise intact box of Kleenex.

"Sorry, it got crushed in my suitcase."

"It's fine," she said quickly, grabbing the box from his hands. "Just give me a minute, alright?" And with that she disappeared into the ensuite bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

Her reflection in the bathroom mirror looked grim. The sickly yellow tint of the ancient lightglobe wasn't doing her any favors, but she had to face facts, she was a blotchy, snotty mess. At least her mascara was waterproof. But as she splashed her face with cold water and let in a deep, calming breath, she had to admit she felt better. She'd done it. She'd finally ripped off that Band-Aid. After months of it always weighing on her, she'd finally let Neal know where they stood, and she felt good about that.

* * *

When she finally emerged from the bathroom, she looked almost human again, and Neal was sitting on the edge of the bed, playing with his phone.

"Better?" he asked, stuffing his phone back into his jeans pocket.

"Much," she replied, having fewer reservations about taking the chair this time.

"He's staying in Storybrooke for you, you know?" He said without preamble.

"What?" She felt like she'd walked in half way through the conversation. Maybe he'd started it while she'd been in the bathroom? "Who?"

"Hook." And Emma felt her mouth go dry.

"I don't think-" she began.

"No, he is," he interrupted, though now this time he was the one avoiding her eyes. "He never gave up on you. He just agreed he wouldn't compete with me, if there was a chance we could be a family. That's what the job is about. And the clothes. It's a..." Neal searched for the right word, "A gesture."

"I..." Emma didn't know what she was going to say.

"I know I should have told you before. Or maybe he should have. I guess I didn't want to think that you might feel something for him, when I wanted so badly for us to get back together. But since that isn't going to happen..." He met her eyes then finally. "I guess I should be straight with you." He let out a healing breath. "I'm not saying you have to do anything with this information..." A wry smile. "I just thought... you should know."

"Oh."

Emma wasn't sure what she was supposed to say to that. Was she supposed to say something? She chose not, her brain busy whirring over her last few run-ins with the pirate, playing them back through the lens of this new information. She had to say, she wasn't sure if things were getting any clearer.

"He might just really likes Granny's lasagna," she said finally. "And hot showers?"

Neal let out a chuckle. "Yeah. And skinny jeans."

Now it was Emma's turn to stifle a laugh.

"Thanks for telling me," she said, catching Neal's eye so he could see she meant it. "I know you didn't have to say anything..."

"You should know," he said simply.

"Well thanks, again."

The two of them sat quietly for a moment, before Emma rose suddenly from her chair. "I should go. This is..."

"Awkward?" he laughed, letting a hand rake through his shaggy hair. "Yeah."

He got up to open the door for her, but she stopped him. "I've got it," she said, reaching for the door handle. "I'm just glad we could be adults about this."

"Me too." She saw the ghost of disappointment flash across his features as she gave him one last look. But it was okay. They'd be okay.

She stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind her, and went to spin around to face the stairs when she ran straight into the firm chest of... Hook.

Hook? Really?

She barely managed to keep herself from falling on top of him. He wasn't so lucky, slamming loudly into the door of the room opposite.

What was he  _doing_ here? Had he  _heard_ them? No, that wasn't-

Suddenly, the door behind her opened again with a woosh, and Neal appeared behind her, the crash of the pirate against the door loud enough to draw his attention.

Neal's tone of surprise matched her own internal one, as the pirate got to his feet at last, his hook embedded in the door frame for leverage. Neal reached out a tentative hand to Emma's forearm, a silent question passing between them.  _Everything okay?_ She offered him a smile to let him know she was fine, her attention turning back to Hook, whose eyes had taken on a steely glint she hadn't seen in a while.

"Tink?" Neal asked suddenly, and Emma looked between the two of them, confused for a moment, until she saw what Neal meant, and a wave of cold realization swept over her. He hadn't been spying on them. Nor had he just happened to be passing. He'd just left the room opposite. Tinker Bell's room, apparently.

And even though it made no sense, and she didn't have the right, Emma still felt a hot tendril of jealousy unfurl in her chest, at the thought. They had a history, those two. Who knew how many years trapped in Neverland together? And then there was the grudging mutual respect. She'd even seen them eating together at Granny's for god's sake, and she'd dismissed it.

And then she saw the flicker as his mask fell into place. "Perhaps," he'd replied smoothly, letting the implications of the word echo between them. And she almost would have believed it, had he not been so blase about it. Then with one last word of farewell, he was gone, leaving Emma and Neal alone again.

He'd been lying. Or at least, he'd misled them. Whatever he and Tinker Bell were up to, it wasn't what it seemed. She tried not to feel too relieved about that.

"Ems," she looked up, to see Neal looking tortured, clearly unsure if he should be distraught for her, or silently celebrating.

"It's okay," she breathed. But clearly Neal wasn't done.

"After everything he said, I didn't think he'd really-"

"Me neither," said Emma, looking down the hall where he'd disappeared.

But if her tone was more curious than resigned, Neal didn't pick up on it.


	6. Chapter 6

He dreams.

...

_He is in the green jungles of Neverland._

_His machete cuts through the ferns as he walks._

_No, as he runs._

_He is pursuing something._

_Or maybe, someone is pursuing him._

_He knows he must not slacken his pace._

_He must not pause for breath, even as his lungs burn._

_He can hear the maniacal laughter of an evil reptile through the trees._

_A bloodthirsty, gleeful giggle._

_Mind games._

_Simply the mind games of a demon child._

_There is no Crocodile in this realm._

_Only Pan._

_Only this chase._

_And his hand, his hand on fire._

_He watches as flames engulf it whole, as the pain burns down his arm._

_He can't run any longer._

_And then he hears the drums._

_The drums of the Lost Ones._

_They are coming._

_He must run._

_But his hand..._

_The drums grow nearer._

_Pan is coming._

_Pan will be angry._

_His hand burns._

_The Crocodile laughs._

_The drums are close._

_Closer._

_..._

Killian sat bolt upright, chest heaving, a flash of pain behind his eyes before he had the good sense to shield them from the light with one leather-clad arm. With his head reeling, his hand fumbled blindly forward, his fingers brushing reams of loose paper and the smooth, worn edges of a wooden desk. He lowered his arm to brave a glimpse of his locale, eyes squinting against the morning light which has still managed to permeate the grimy window. It was his desk. His office. His dusty little office by the docks.

And judging from the protestations of his neck and spine, it had also been the place where he had spent a number of hours passed out in a less than ideal posture after too much of Granny's good whiskey.

Much as he had been doing for the last few weeks.

The pounding continued. It was not the pounding drums of the Lost Boys, as his fevered imaginings believed, but a never-ending rhythm of determined knocks on his office door. Knocks that resonated sharply against the inside of his skull, chasing away the last of his dream, and leaving nothing but a dull ache in its place. He wondered if he should throw up before or after he opened the door.

"I know you're in there," came a muffled voice through the door, delivered in the irritating sing-song manner of a child. "I saw you through the window."

Bloody hell.

With only a twinge of complaint from his stiff neck, Hook leaned forward to rest his forehead on the cool surface of his desk, groaning at his luck.

Of course.

Who else, but Henry Mills?

The living embodiment of his ill-conceived sacrifice.

"A moment, lad," he barked out sharply, breathing a sigh of relief when the boy's persistent knocking came to a merciful end, the momentary silence a salve to his headache.

After a few more seconds savoring the relative silence, and the cool of the desk against his forehead, he pulled himself up with a groan, surveying his surroundings properly for the first time in days.

The neatly ordered piles of paperwork of the week before last were no longer. Today the entire office floor was strewn with a messy array of loose paper and files, with no apparent method to the madness.

"What have you done, you drunken fool?" Killian murmured to himself, as he began to fully comprehend the devastation, stepping awkwardly through the debris. He spied the previous night's empty bottles, under a fallen pile of maintenance logs, and reached forward to retrieve them, concealing the damning evidence in the bottom drawer of his desk.

He ran a few fingers through the dark tangles of his hair, in a vain attempt to control the mess, before taking the last few steps forward and opening the door, quickly blocking the entry with his frame to prevent the boy properly seeing inside.

"Master Mills," he began, somewhat gruffly. The morning was shaping up to be a warm one, and the glare of the sun off the water behind the boy was excruciating. He regarded the boy through squinted eyes. "How can I be of assistance?"

"Wow." Henry took a leery step back, glancing upward, mouth falling slightly open. "You look like a zombie."

The lad certainly inherited his mother's tact. He was not entirely sure what a  _zombie_ was, but if it looked like him in his current state, then it could not be a good thing.

"I thank you for your candor," Killian replied smoothly, trying not to grit his teeth. He was well aware that he probably appeared puffy-eyed, unkempt, and reeking of alcohol. Not exactly the impression he was eager to leave with the lad, as his mother's potential suitor. Not that that was of much import anymore, he supposed. Still, the Lieutenant Jones of old would have demanded a court martial.

Unwilling to sit through a lecture on the devils of liquor consumption by an 11 year old, he let himself relax back into the familiar pirate guise. It was as comfortable and simple as slipping on one's favorite jacket. His posture, so stiff at first from the uncomfortable sleeping arrangements and the unexpected interruption, instantly relaxed as he let himself lean lackadaisically against the door frame, his arms crossing firmly in front of him. When next he looked at the lad, there was a quirk to one eyebrow and a slight curve of a sneer on his lips. "Was there a particular reason you decided to darken my door on this fine morning, lad?"

Much to Hook's dismay, Henry didn't seem fazed by the fearsome pirate persona, pushing easily past him, and into the ruined confines of his office, before Hook could so much as issue a word of warning.

"Wow," Henry said again, pausing a few feet inside, his eyes growing wide at the mess. He turned to regard the pirate with equal parts horror and amazement. "It looks like a grizzly bear got loose in here." He paused, screwing his nose up slightly. "And it smells like it too."

Judgmental little urchin. It was the Charming in him.

"Had I known a member of the nobility was passing, I would have surely tidied up a little," Hook lowered himself into a dramatic bow, ignoring the sharp complaint from his muscles as he did so. "I humbly beg Your Royal Highness's forgiveness."

The eye roll he received in response was classic Emma.

Hook grinned, straightening, some of his nausea from earlier beginning to ebb at last. "I don't mean to be indelicate, Master Mills, but if I could perhaps glean the purpose of this visit? The sooner we conclude our business, the sooner we can quit this den of squalor, aye?"

Henry nodded solemnly in agreement, but didn't immediately reply, his eyes still busy scanning the room for... something.

"Lad?"

Then the boy's eyes lit up at something behind Hook's shoulder, and he whirled around to see what had so captured the young lad's attention.

Henry let out a celebratory pump of his fist, stepping forward to sweep a small stack of books from their place on the windowsill, and into his arms. " _Diesel Engine Care and Repair, Moby Dick_ ,  _Atlantic Seafaring,_ " he began to read off the titles gleefully, flicking them open one by one to scan the inside covers. "I knew it was you!" He said, looking up from the pages of  _Lighthouses of Maine._ "Grandma Belle said she thought someone had been sneaking into the library at night. I knew she wasn't imagining it!"

"Not imagining _that,_ at any rate _,_ " Hook murmured unkindly, only to be rewarded with a sharp look from the boy, who'd clearly heard him.

"So this was an investigative mission?" The lad had definitely been spending too much time among those hero types.

He held both his hand and his hook aloft in mock surrender. "I confess. It was I. I'm afraid my desire to know all regarding the inner workings of the  _combustion engine_  quite overrode my ability to abide by such trivialities as opening hours and locked doors." The boy was much worse than Emma at hiding his amusement, his lips quirking up at the corner, even as he tried to keep his expression stern. "But unless this is a matter for the sheriff, I would appreciate it if you just took my ill-gotten gains, and went on your merry way."

The boy's eyes narrowed. "You're trying to get rid of me."

"Very astute, as always lad."

"Why?" A more astute observer wouldn't have needed to ask.

Perhaps honesty would be the best policy. Just this once. "Do you know what drinking an entire bottle of very, very fine whiskey in a matter of hours does to a person, lad?"

"Sure..." he said slowly, frowning slightly. "We learned about alcohol in health class." This realm. Would the wonders never cease?  _Health class._

"Aye, lad. Then you know it is no trivial thing. And right now, all I wish is retreat back into the dark, cool confines of my ship and sleep until that blasted sun is no longer in the sky. Do we understand one another?" He made a motion for the door, but the boy stepped in front of him, arms still loaded with books.

"That's not why I came by, actually," Henry said, motioning at his armful of confiscated literature.

"Your motives extend beyond depriving me of my library?" Hook rose a single eyebrow. "Well then lad, don't keep me in suspense."

Henry performed that eye roll again, so perfectly reminiscent of his mother, dropping his quarry on Hook's desk, and pulling a slightly crumpled white envelope from the back pocket of his trousers.

"We're having a ball. Like a..." he seemed to fumble for the correct term, "A Royal Ball. And we're inviting you."

He held the envelope out in front of him, but Hook regarded it warily.

"A Royal Ball?" He repeated, uncertain.

"Yeah. A Ball. My grandparents are throwing it. Apparently they used to do that all the time back in the Enchanted Forest. It was kind of their  _thing."_

"I do recall hearing tell of such extravagant fetes, in the taverns of the day. 'Such opulent costumes!' The ladies would cry. 'Such magnificent wine!' the men would boast." Hook could not resist a wink at the boy. "Though I must say I never dared to believe that I would merit such an invitation." He regarded the envelope Henry was now wiggling in front of his face with cool suspicion. "What is the occasion for this merry monstrosity?"

Henry sighed, the hand holding the envelope dropping to his side. "You mean, why are they having it?"

"Indeed."

"Well, it's kind of a secret..." The boy began, and a second too late, Hook felt his heart begin to thump uncomfortably in his chest.

If the answer was a royal engagement, then he bitterly regretted asking. He had a split second to consider the horror of this possibility, when Henry finished his deliberations.

"I'm going to have an Uncle!" Henry blurted out in a rush, having apparently found no harm in betraying his confidences to this pirate. "Or an Aunt, I guess," the boy shrugged. "But we think it's going to be a boy this time."

Hook should have felt ashamed for the cool flood of relief in his veins, but he didn't. And then he paused to consider the boy's revelation. It took a moment, what with the tangled branches that had become the lad's rather convoluted family tree.

"I'm rather hoping you mean on your mother's side," he said slowly. Carefully.

"Duh." Meaning, he supposed,  _of course._

That too, was a relief. Of a different kind. He reached forward, grabbing the envelope from between the boy's fingers. "Well then I suppose congratulations are in order." He clapped the boy on the shoulder briefly, the envelope still clutched in his hand. "And I thank you and your kin for the invitation. As to my attendance, I shall have to see if I can accommodate such time away from my busy schedule."

It seemed vaguely more polite than mentioning that he would otherwise be occupied avoiding the lad's birth parents at all costs.

He had grown to like the Prince. He tolerated his wife, as she did him. He certainly respected them both. He wished them the best with their new bundle of joy, even as he knew its very existence would very likely threaten to drown Emma under a fresh wave of insecurity. But this was one gathering he was sitting out. Captain Hook knew a thing or two about self-preservation.

He could stomach the idea of the two of them together. He could even pretend he was happy for them. But not in person. Emma would see right through him, and he didn't want to do that to her. She deserved to be happy. Even with Baelfire. No one needed a one-handed pirate with a drinking problem knocking about, complicating matters.

Whilst Henry didn't have his mother's  _superpower,_ he did let his gaze fall back to the room in which they stood, the hovel that it was, and back to Hook, one eyebrow raised at his poor excuse. "Right," he said with an air of disbelief. "Well, don't think about it too hard. It's tonight. The ball, that is."

"Awfully short notice for a royal occasion, no?"

"Well..." And when the lad avoided his eyes, for the first time, he saw Bae in him. It was the look of a boy who wouldn't cop to lifting an extra ration of bread from the galley, even when caught red-handed feasting on the evidence. The recognition caused a curious sensation to stir in his chest, equal parts fondness and pain. He supposed where Bae was concerned, the two would always coexist.

"My invitation was waylaid?" Killian offered him by way of escape.

Henry blew out a sigh of relief, a trace of a smile reappearing. "Yeah," he agreed. "It was waylaid."

There was something suspicious about this, make no mistake. Perhaps the boy was issuing the invitation contrary to the wishes of his family? Perhaps he had simply forgotten to deliver it earlier? But whatever the boy's motives, mysterious though they were, it hardly mattered. He had no intention of actually attending the ball, invited or no.

"Then you should consider your quest completed, young sir." He said, shoving his invitation into the pocket of his new coat, and reaching over to his forgotten bundle of the books, placing them back into the boy's arms, one by one. "And go back to your family."

"You should drink some water," the boy advised, on his way out of the door. "The reason you feel so terrible is because you're dehydrated. At least, that's what my teacher said."

"I'll cede to your wisdom in this matter," he bowed in gratitude, as the boy stepped outside, leaving him alone to his sad little den of iniquity.

"And I would appreciate it if the Queen didn't hear about my housekeeping issues!" he thought to call out after him, but when no reply was forthcoming, he had a sneaking suspicion Henry was already gone.

* * *

When Killian next awoke, back in his quarters on the  _Jolly_ , the harsh sunlight was gone, though his headache steadfastly remained. A condition which improved immeasurably when he discovered a glass of cool water on the stairs by his cabin, together with two small white pills. Tucked underneath the glass was a note, written in surprisingly tidy print.

**_I asked my Moms and apparently this is the best hangover cure available in this realm._ **

**_Henry._ **

One day he would need to have a conversation with the boy about things such as trespassing on a man's ship, but as he felt the pain in his head recede, he reasoned that particular conversation could maybe wait until another day.

This realm really did contain many marvels.

He checked his timepiece, surprised to find he didn't sleep quite as late as he imagined. A glimpse outside confirmed it was not dusk, as he had supposed, that had ended the tyranny of the sun, so much as a layer of dark cloud.

Dark cloud.

Killian paused in his motions, vest still half-fastened.

He hurried over to his desk, scouring the scattered papers for the newspaper he had thrown there carelessly earlier that morning. Ripping open its absurdly garish blue packaging with his hook, he unfurled the thing, scanning the front page.

**_Today's Weather_ **

**_A pleasant 80F. A sunny weekend ahead._ **

It accompanied a childish illustration of the sun sporting an insipid grin.

He glanced back to the dark cloud gathering outside, and shivered slightly in the chill that crept beneath the deck as the wind picked up, and the  _Jolly Roger_ began to sway. He rechecked the date on the newspaper with the calendar for this realm he kept by his desk. It had been a gift from Emma, left on his deck not long after his break-in at the Sheriff's Station to return her missing footwear. A joke, he presumed. It depicted Hook as he was apparently known in this realm, as a crudely illustrated villain with the dreaded  _perm_ and a frankly alarming hat.

_**To help you acclimate.** _

So said the note that accompanied it. And it did keep him informed of this realm's lesser holidays and moon cycles, as well as the passage of days. Which he checked again.

This wasn't right.

He knew the weather shamans in this realm were not always entirely accurate, but they rarely made such an obvious blunder.

His own studies of the skies had been admittedly lax the last few weeks, but he could usually pride himself on being able to see the signs of a storm long before it hit. To his knowledge, there hadn't been any. He had been a terrible Harbormaster of late, but even he knew that it was his responsibility to keep an eye to the skies. And the skies  _had_  been clear.  _Should have been_ clear.

This wasn't right.

And then he heard it. The tearing. Almost like a sail tearing right through the middle. But the  _Jolly_  was docked, and the sails were tied safely away. The sails  _were_ safely tied away.

But that's not all that was strapped to his main mast these days.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Killian reached the main deck just in time to see Pan's Shadow snap free from the mast, splinters of wood flying in all directions, before the malevolent form began heading across the small harbor and towards the fair town of Storybrooke, dragging the gathering storm with it.

"Bloody buggering hell."

* * *

 _What use was the Prince giving him a talking phone if he never answered when he tried to call him?_  Hook wondered, letting out a curse as David's phone went straight to voicemail again. He was near out of breath, but the block where the Charmings lived was coming up on his left.

In a fit of desperation, he even dialed the emergency number pre-programmed into his phone, knowing it would divert back to Emma at the Sheriff's Station. But he reached the stairs to the loft just as it began to ring, and he concentrated instead on climbing the two flights of stairs, to bang insistently on the Charmings' door.

"OPEN THE BLOODY DOOR!" He didn't care at this point if he sounded like a madman. He started slamming on the door with his palm next. If that didn't work, his next battering ram would be the hook.

"Hook?" He nearly fell inside when the door swung open, barely avoiding crashing into the Lady Snow, who was looking resplendent in some kind of white ball gown, which she had paired with a look of worried concern.

"Is Dave here?" he asked quickly, noting for the first time the woman was wearing an actual tiara. "And Emma?"

"Emma's upstairs, and David's in the bathroom. What's going on?" She tried to get him to sit down on the couch, eyes filling with motherly concern, but Killian shrugged her off, trying to get some of his breath back.

"Hook!?" David emerged from the bathroom, adorned with a formal outfit that was probably customary for the realm, his hair still wet from the shower.

"We have a problem, Your Majesty," Hook began.

"Problem?" Came a voice from above. Hook resisted the urge to flinch when he heard it, looking up to see Emma descending the stairs from her upstairs bedroom, in a flash of silver.

Dear gods, he'd been a fool. She was a vision.

But it hardly mattered, seeing as they might all die this night anyway.

With more than a little effort, he pulled his attention away from Emma, and focused back on Dave, who was now standing arms crossed, awaiting an explanation for this sudden interruption of this most joyous of family occasions.

"I don't wish to be the bearer of ill-tidings, your Majesties, but I'm afraid the festivities may have to wait. Something very bad is coming. In fact, it's already here."

And no sooner had he spoken the words, than the overhead lights in the loft flickered once, then failed completely, plunging them all into darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

If Emma thought about it logically, maybe it wasn't  _entirely_ out of the question that Hook still harbored some kind of... thing... for her. She couldn't deny there had been looks. Furtive glances across the diner when he thought she hadn't been looking. "Accidental" run-ins all over town. The almost kiss in her bedroom the night of their return from Neverland. Then there was the thing with the shoes. She still had no idea how he'd gotten into the Sheriff's Station, and out again, without setting off the alarm.

And then there was the indisputable fact that  _he was still there._

It was a decision that had never made sense to Emma, with all she'd known of the man. Not when doing so meant making peace with the man who had killed his love, and giving up his seafaring ways. What was Captain Hook without his revenge or his life of piracy?

Ever since he'd turned his ship around and come back for them, since Neverland, Emma had been trying to work that out. And if she was honest with herself, the answer she'd been considering frightened her a little.

Because the answer to who Hook was when he wasn't giving in to his darker impulses, the man Emma had seen glimpses of in Neverland, and maybe even before that, was someone who could mean a whole lot to her, if she let herself.

But... would she? Was it even in her to try?

Emma had been up so late replaying her conversation with Neal over and over in her head, that when she finally came down for breakfast the following morning, she was too blurry-eyed and distracted at first to see the signs.

That is, until halfway through her stack of pancakes, she noticed that a chocolate sauce smiley face had been drawn on every one. Reaching across for her hot chocolate, she was just in time to see the remains of dusted cinnamon heart dissolving into the whipped cream.

Something was up.

For the first time since she'd mumbled them a "Good Morning", she spared a glance at her parents. They were both already dressed for the day, in sharp contrast to Emma's flannel pajamas, but that wasn't the intimidating part. The intimidating part was that the both of them were focused solely on her, with a laser-like intensity, their own pancakes uneaten, hands clasped tightly together on the table top.

Something was  _definitely_  up.

"Mom? Dad?" she asked, a hint of nervousness creeping into her voice. It still felt weird to say. But in that moment, she never felt more like a kid on the verge of being grounded.

They hadn't heard about her decision on Neal yet, had they? She couldn't see how. The Storybrooke rumor mill was fast, but it wasn't  _that_ fast, even if Granny's  _was_ run by a woman with wolf-like hearing. Granny hadn't mastered text messaging yet, had she?

David cleared his throat, and her parents shared another significant glance.

"We, uh..." he began, faltering when he raised his eyes to meet Emma's own.

"I'm pregnant," Mary Margaret blurted out suddenly.

Ignoring her husband's pointed look which clearly said she'd gone off-script, her mother continued to look expectantly at Emma, reaching down below the table to rub her belly in a way that seemed unconscious.

"Oh."

Emma wasn't sure what to say. It not like she wasn't expecting it. She'd heard Mary Margaret's confession in the Echo Caves. Hell, she'd been making vain attempts to soundproof the loft against baby-making noises for months. But at the same time, she still felt like she'd been punched in the throat.

Intellectually, Emma knew it wasn't about her. She  _knew_ that. But she couldn't quite stem the tide of rejection that washed over her at her mother's announcement.

The Swans had sent her back when they'd had their own kid. They hadn't wanted her. Her parents were going to have a kid they could actually raise. A kid who would grow up to be as optimistic and heroic as they were, without all the hang-ups and abandonment issues. They wouldn't want her. Why would they want her?

"Congratulations," she choked out, plastering a smile on her face. But when she saw her parents link hands again, and Mary Margaret's eyes well with tears, she knew her reaction had been just a little too late, and a little too forced.

David leaned forward to rub Mary Margaret's shoulder as she bit her lip to stop the tears spilling over. "I know it's a bit of a shock..." he began.

"It's not  _that_  shocking," Emma pointed out, stabbing at the last chocolate smiley face with her fork. "I do live here, you know, and you guys are not  _half_  as subtle as you think you are."

Mary Margaret's lip curved into a ghost of a smile, but Emma still saw a single tear streak down her cheek before it was hastily wiped away.

_No._

They cared about Emma. They wanted her to feel loved. They  _made_ her feel loved. And they were scared, so scared, both of them, David with his carefully stoic expression, and Mary Margaret with her tears. They were scared of her reaction. They were scared of screwing up. They were scared of wanting this, scared of losing everything. Again.

That single tear was the last little push Emma needed to do what she should have done in the first place, to rise from her place and walk around the table to throw herself into her mother's waiting arms.

"It's going to be great," she whispered into her mother's ear, her own tears beginning to form as David joined the hug, crushing all three, no, all four of them together into one weepy mess of a family. "You guys are going to be so great."

* * *

They were careful around her for the next few days, she knew. Her parents were being just a little too attentive, a little too affectionate. For some reason, this mainly manifested in the form of hot beverages. Every morning when Emma woke there had been a hot chocolate sitting on the stairs by her room, a custom shape sprinkled with cinnamon dust into the cream. She stopped accidentally kicking them over and soaking her pajama leg in cocoa on the third day. Her desk at the Sheriff's Station was permanently littered with Granny's to-go cups, a new one appearing every half hour or so, accompanied by an increasingly sheepish grin from David.

A part of her wanted to tell the pair of them to get a grip, and remind them she was almost 30 years old. Another part, and she could maybe admit it was the larger part, kind of enjoyed the attention. But when they'd spent five nights straight watching DVDs in the loft  _as a family_ , Emma knew she had to get out.

It was Friday night, and Henry was with Neal for the weekend, so sneaking off to the Rabbit Hole for a drink seemed as good an idea as any. And if she happened to run into a certain Harbormaster... But he wasn't there. Ruby was, flagging her down as she stood by the bar, ushering her over to her table in the corner, where Emma was kind of surprised to find the waitress nursing a beer beside none other than Dr Victor Whale.

Emma raised her eyebrows immediately, but Ruby gave her a low-key shake of the head, and Emma put her fighting words away. If Whale was a mistake that Ruby wanted to make twice, that was her business.

"Whale," she said coolly, as she sat down with her drink.

"Sheriff," he replied stiffly, with a nod.

The three of them sat for an extended moment, pretending to be engrossed in their drinks, until the awkwardness was just too unbearable.

"Mary Margaret's pregnant," Emma blurted out.

Ruby made a delighted kind of squeak, pulling Emma into a quick hug, but Whale choked on his mouthful of soda, spraying Coke in all directions. It was only then, when Ruby broke their hug to thump him on the back until he'd stopped spluttering, that Emma remembered that back when they were cursed, Mary Margaret and the good doctor had had a thing. Which was... so not something she wanted to think about. Ever.

But she figured that temporary panic was the standard reaction when you found out a one night stand was pregnant, even months after the fact.

"Yeah," she said, giving Whale a pointed look as she wiped the table down with her napkin. "They're pretty excited about it. Maybe a little... too excited about it? Every spare inch of space in the loft is covered with pregnancy manuals and parenting guides. And Mary Margaret has been making us watch these videos..." Emma shuddered at the memory. "It's like they've never done this before."

"Well..." said Ruby considered this, twirling her straw lazily between her fingers. "I guess they kind of haven't?"

"Yeah, but they already had a kid in the Enchanted Forest. And they didn't even have, like, antiseptic or real doctors." She motioned charitably at Whale. "I guess I figured they'd be more relaxed about it in this realm. If anything, the opposite is true. Mary Margaret woke me up in the middle of the night last night to ask me if I had ever heard of cradle cap. She was convinced the baby was going to have scales."

"Cradle cap's not dangerous," Whale interjected. Both Ruby and Emma turned to look at him, half surprised to find he was even listening. "And it goes away on its own in a few weeks..." he finished, noticing their identical looks of disbelief.

He rolled his eyes, pointing an index finger at his temple. "Some of us were cursed with Med School. That included Obstetrics, you know." He raised his can of soda to the ceiling. "Thank you, Your Majesty," he declared sarcastically, before lifting the can to his lips, and draining it in a single motion.

Emma idly wondered exactly how much of a role Ruby had played in the Doctor's new-found sobriety, and if it had occurred before or after the reconciliation. But as she watched Whale get up to approach the bar for his next can of soda, she admitted to herself it probably wouldn't be polite to ask.

"They were pretty bad the first time," Ruby's conspiratorial whisper broke Emma from her thoughts, her elbow nudging hers. "When Snow found out she was pregnant with you, they threw a ball. They were at war with Regina, and they  _still_  found time to invite people from fourteen different kingdoms and serve twenty eight different kinds of cake."

"Twenty eight different kinds?" Emma wasn't even sure she could name that many.

"Yup. It was a pretty good party, actually. Best red velvet sponge cake I ever had..." Ruby trailed off wistfully, her eyes glazing over for a moment in apparent recollection, until she shook her head and refocused on Emma. "All I'm saying is, Snow and Charming don't do things by halves. And you maybe shouldn't be surprised if there's a shindig on the horizon, for the little guy or girl. They were always such suckers for a gathering."

* * *

Ruby, it turned out, was right.

Her father ventured the topic the next morning over yet another elaborately decorated stack of pancakes, as the two of them politely ignored the sound of Mary Margaret heaving her guts up through the bathroom door.

"Things have just been so chaotic since the curse broke, we thought it might be a way to boost morale a bit," David tried to explain. He nudged her elbow with his own. "Enjoy the good moments."

"Sure," she agreed diplomatically, before shoveling in another forkful of pancake.

Emma had never been to a royal ball before. Hell, she'd never even been to  _Prom._ But she could see it was important to her parents, so she agreed to help. And if digging out old decorations from Miner's Day, and handwriting invitations kept her from inventing reasons to extend her patrols past the docks, then so much the better.

It didn't quite stop her from writing him out an invitation though, the words of his real name springing forth from her mind along with the memory of that first encounter.  _Killian Jones._ Tied to a tree at knife-point. They'd come a long way since then. But not far enough that she could bring herself to post it with the other invitations, when she stood outside the post office with Henry, watching Marco and little August play in the park across the street.

It's not like the Jolly Roger had a mailbox anyway, she reasoned, as she stuffed the envelope back into her purse. She'd give it to him when she saw him. If she saw him.

But she didn't see him. Not at Granny's. Not down at the Rabbit Hole. Not on her patrols when she circled lazily past the docks in her patrol car. The Jolly Roger was still moored, so she figured he hadn't gone far. She resisted the urge to ask after him with Granny, knowing the woman was shrewd enough to see right through her. That went doubly for Tinker Bell. She wasn't sure if it was the image she had in her head of the pouting, vindictive fairy from the Disney movie, but there was something about her Emma didn't completely trust.

So Emma took it as a sign, and the invitation remained buried under the mace can and handcuffs she still kept in her purse, while she focused on turning Town Hall into a place fit for a fairy tale ball in a little less than a week. Everything would be perfect, she'd assured a hormone-addled Mary Margaret, as she pried her away from the craft scissors at 3am. They had it handled.

So naturally, everything went to hell in a hand-basket. Emma thought the most stressful part of the evening was going to be bluffing her way through the waltz in impractical shoes. Emma had been kidding herself. This was Storybrooke, and something was always,  _always_ going on.

So maybe she shouldn't have been so surprised when Hook burst into the loft after two weeks of being MIA, eyes wild, chest heaving, words of dread tumbling from his lips just before the lights went out, signalling an abrupt end to the evening's scheduled programming.

* * *

It took Emma a few moments to get a handle on the situation, producing a will o' wisp from her mind so that it hung suspended in the air between them, at last illuminating the room in a swell of yellow light. Her parents had found each other across the room in the dark, David standing protectively in front of his wife, his sword already in his hands.

_Did he really just have it laying around?_

The fear on their faces was evident, but there was an identical, determined tilt to their chins that said they were ready for a fight.

Killian... Hook looked a little less ready for action, leaning on the back of the couch with one arm, trying to get his breathing under control, his eyes glancing up to meet Emma's as soon as the light returned. There was a doomed cast to those eyes Emma had rarely seen, which said this was clearly a little more serious than a black out.

"Pan's shadow," Hook said coolly, his accented voice still a little breathless. "The shadow broke free and now it's terrorizing Storybrooke."

"Free?" Emma repeated dumbly, her head swimming with the implications.

"I thought it was supposed to be secure?" David turned to Hook, and Emma could hear the hint of accusation behind the words. Pan's Shadow had been on his ship, after all. For all intents and purposes, it had been Hook's responsibility.

"And so it should be!" Hook replied, straightening fully to face David and his implication head on. "Without a master, the shadow is virtually powerless. It certainly possesses no ill will of its own!"

"So it has a new master," Emma was surprised to find herself saying. The three of them all turned to look at her, and she continued the thought. "Someone with ill intent. Someone who knows how to control it. And how many people do we know like that?"

"Gold," Mary Margaret said quietly, sharing a significant glance with Emma, while David looked between them in confusion. Emma saw Killian's entire body go rigid at the name.

"Gold," Emma repeated.

* * *

It didn't take long to change out of her ridiculous ball dress, and back into clothes fit for chasing down an evil spirit. An almost disappointingly small amount of time, considering how long she had spent getting ready, really.

But when she returned downstairs, the loft had already somehow turned into Shadow Hunt HQ. Candles had been lit on every surface. A surface map of Storybrooke was laid out on the dining room table, around which Hook and David were huddled, conferring with Regina, who'd just arrived with Henry, still dressed in all their Royal Ball finery.

Something inside Emma clenched at the sight of her son in his custom tuxedo, his hair parted neatly to the side with some kind of product, but she willed it away. There would be other Balls. Other chances to see her son growing up into the man she knew he would be, before her eyes. Just not tonight.

"There you are!" David said, as Emma pushed her way into the main group. "We need to call Neal," he said, digging into his jeans pocket for his phone.

"No!" Emma winced a little at the sound, the way her voice seeming to bounce off every surface in the loft, bringing all eyes in the room back on her.

"Emma?" prompted Mary Margaret, softly, stepping out from behind the counter where she had been making coffee.

This was  _so_  not how she intended to have this conversation.

"It's just..." Emma grappled for the right words to explain her hesitation.

"My parents aren't getting back together." Emma, and everyone else, whipped around to the source of the words. It was her son, who had been sitting quietly on the couch in his tuxedo, clutching a hot cocoa in his hands, which he set down on the coffee table when he realized he had an audience. "And everyone is okay with that," he continued in that same steady tone, making sure to meet Emma's eyes, "But they decided it would be best not to see each other for a while. To make it easier."

He made an unlikely hero in Emma's time of need. More so because she hadn't yet managed to find a way to tell him exactly what was happening between her and Neal.

"Did your Dad tell you that?" Emma asked carefully, voice hushed, her focus only on Henry.

He shrugged. "He didn't have to."

Emma felt a rush of love for her son, the only things stopping her from closing the last few steps to envelop him in a fierce hug being Regina's huff of impatience and David's gentle cough.

"I get that Emma, but we need his star map to-" Her father trailed off abruptly, and Emma didn't miss the warning glance in her mother's eye.

"Actually, mate," said Killian, clapping David on the shoulder. " _Neal_ isn't in possession of the star map any longer, so there's no need to bother him if we mean to trap the evil spirit."

"So exactly  _who is_ in possession of the item, Captain?" Regina's patience had clearly lapsed, as she rounded on him.

And to Emma's surprise, he turned to the former Evil Queen with the beginnings of a smile breaking across his handsome face.

"Why, Tinker Bell, of course."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: And here we have the epic conclusion to this strange little story, which was, admittedly, a little rough around the edges, being the mostly 3am ramblings of an insomniac bartender, and a flimsy excuse to try out writing from Killian POV. I have a few more things in the pipeline, so if you like Killian Jones vs. The Modern World, or snarky crime capers, or snarkier bartenders, you should follow me maybe. And if you're lucky, they are actually going to be re-read during daylight hours prior to posting. For quality control, like.**

**I also accept prompts that appeal to me, if you send me nice PMs. Don't be shy.**

If this was the life that Tinker Bell was so eager to return to, Killian was seriously reconsidering his opinion of the fairy's intelligence. That was Killian's first thought, as he considered the darkened atrium before him.

The convent building was imposing at the best of times, standing as it did on a hill above the rest of of Storybrooke, from where it could cast a shadow of moral indignation down on the townsfolk. But this evening, cloaked as it was in darkness in the wake of the Shadow's attack on the power supply, there was a definite pall of malice about the place.

Killian Jones did not scare easily.

But that did not mean he was one to foolishly ignore his own instincts either.

Far from it.

They'd served him quite well over the centuries. Whereas countless members of his crew had fallen victim to the sword, or poison, or Neverland's dark enchantments, he'd emerged virtually unscathed from every dangerous encounter, stubbornly refusing to die until he saw his vengeance through.

At that very moment, he heard distant screams echoing down a nearby corridor, and every instinct told him that no good would come from this place.

Despite the gloom, Emma must have caught the flash of hesitance on his face in the dull light of her torch, because she brushed past him, flicking her golden tresses back to look at him, quirking a single eyebrow in challenge. "Scared?"

"Because nothing eases the nerves so much as following a malevolent spirit into a darkened cloister with naught but a candle in a coconut..." he drawled, letting an eyebrow of his own rise to meet her challenge.

"If you want to wait outside, me and ..." She still seemed to be having trouble using the name, "...  _Tinker Bell_  can manage without you..." She dipped her head in the direction of the fairy, who came to stand by Killian's elbow, clutching said coconut tightly in her hands.

Tink cocked her head to the side, watching them both with a poorly disguised trace of amusement on her face. With a huff of annoyance, he drew his sword from its scabbard and struck the desired pose, squaring his chin defiantly.

"After you, Swan," he motioned forward with his sword, giving a small bow. He could have sworn he saw the hint of a victorious smile play across Emma's face, before she turned away from him, hitting her torch with the heel of her hand as it began flickering erratically. After a few moments, it blinked out entirely, Tink letting out a small moan, Emma an exasperated groan.

His reading had made mention of the concept of  _batteries,_ but had somehow neglected to mention how fitful they could be. After a few dire moments, where Killian reconsidered a retreat, columns of white light appeared from between Emma fingers, as she conjured an orb of light in the palm of her hand. When she opened her hand again, it rose steadily in front of them, bathing the room in light, illuminating the way. He heard Emma make a small hiss of triumph, before she waved a hand back urging them to follow, and ducking down the same passage from whence the screams had just come.

Fantastic.

So Killian found himself doing something he'd found himself doing rather a lot since that fateful day he'd first been tied to a tree all those months ago in The Enchanted Forest. He squared his shoulders, raised his sword, and followed Emma Swan into certain danger.

* * *

How Emma came to be patrolling the darkened corridors of the fairy convent with Captain Hook and Tinker Bell in tow, searching for a demonic spirit under the sway of Rumpelstiltskin, was just another in a long list of things that made her think the universe really did have a sense of humor.

They had a plan. Or, the rough sketch of a plan, anyway. It was improvised, and sloppy, like all of their plans, and it was the best they were gonna get. But unfortunately, it had meant splitting up. If they were going to stop this, they were going to need to play to their strengths.

Regina was the shock and awe. Her job was to try to draw Gold out into the open, using her magic to pin him down and distract him. David and Mary Margaret were the hearts and minds. They would try to sway Neal and Belle into helping talk the Dark One down, if he hadn't already managed to section them off. If anyone stood a chance, it was surely his wife and son. And if they happened to glean the location of the dagger, that wouldn't be the most terrible thing... And Henry? Henry was safe.

Whereas Hook, Tinker Bell and Emma? They were the hunting party.

Not that it had been so hard to hunt the Shadow down, exactly.  _All you had to do was follow the screams._  Which had led them right into the heart of the fairy convent, which was  _much_  creepier in the dark than Emma had ever given it credit for. She'd never really been a big fan of institutions, which probably wasn't a big shocker, considering her upbringing, but this place gave her the heebie jeebies, even if she did have her trusty ball of light leading the way.

That and the somewhat comforting presence of Captain Hook beside her, though she'd never tell him that.

She hadn't been super into the splitting up idea at first, especially not when she found out which team she would playing for. Her and Hook still hadn't cleared the air since Neal's revelations, and he was definitely acting cagey. A lingering awkwardness which only compounded when Tinker Bell joined the team.

Apparently she had been using the coconut as a night-light of sorts. Though she hadn't liked it there all that much, the familiar constellations of Neverland's skies seemed to be a consolation when projected against the ceiling of her strange room at Granny's. Emma could get that. Floral bedspreads and lemon-scented soap were certainly a far cry from her tree house.

How Hook had known about that was not something Emma wanted to examine too closely. Or at all. She was a strong believer in self-preservation. Which is also why, despite the awkward, there was something strangely calming about having a fairy tale villain with a hook for a hand standing beside you, ready to dole out punishment on your behalf.

"What makes you so certain the Crocodile is behind this, Swan?" Came the hushed voice of said fairy tale villain, as he leaned in close.

She slowed her pace a little, but didn't take her eyes off the corridor ahead. Whereas the others had taken her at her word, she supposed she should have expected that Hook wouldn't go along with the others just because. But he also knew better than anyone what Gold was capable of.

She folded her arms over her chest."You're the  _last_  person I would expect to give Gold the benefit of the doubt."

"Aye, and though I can't say I'm thrilled his turning over a new leaf didn't take, I'm not surprised. But what proof do you have that he is the one controlling the Shadow? The man's too cunning to be caught if he doesn't wish to be." Said by a man with no small amount of experience in the matter.

"That's just it," Emma found herself whispering back, "There  _is_  no concrete evidence. That's the point. But all of the weird crap that's been happening in town lately, I don't think it's just the normal Storybrooke chaos. It's too... neat."

"Neat?"

She paused finally to face him directly, the both of them blocking the corridor. He was close, closer, than she thought, and she didn't find any of the doubt she expected to be sewn across his face. Instead, his look reminded her uncomfortably of Henry when she'd told him the lie about Neal being a firefighter, who'd died heroically in a building fire. His expression was neutral, his eyes fixed on hers expectantly. Ready to trust. And for a moment, it scared her, a lump building in her throat which she tried to swallow down.

"The... the attacks seem random, with no real connection between them. But that's the  _problem._ That's not how problems work.  _They build. They spill over. They snowball into larger problems._  They don't just appear like a flash in a pan for no reason."

"Granted. Things in Storybrooke have hardly been peaceful of late. But why is the Crocodile your chief suspect?"

"You mean beside the fact that he loves manipulating people for his own ends?" Emma let that one sink in for a moment, with an arched eyebrow for good measure. Who could forget that this was a man who spent decades nudging Regina into darkness, just so that she would cast a dark curse, just so that he could hitch a ride to the Land Without Magic?

"There is more," she continued. "You know that Bandersnatch we took down a couple weeks ago?"

He nodded. Tinker Bell, standing a little ways behind them, nodded too.  _Great._  Why were they whispering again?

"It had come through a portal conjured by a magical amulet. An amulet bought from Gold's shop, which it turns out, requires a pretty skilled spell-caster to open. He pleaded ignorance, of course, but it got me thinking." She paused, waiting for the pair of them to give her the go-ahead to continue. A pair of nods.

"I went back through some old files. After the Lost Boys debacle I went to see Sidney, to chew him out over his stupid editorial. But when I confronted him, he barely remembered writing it. Like he'd been compelled or something. I began to wonder if he wasn't just another pawn in a greater game. And the thing with the Cyclops? He'd been roaming the woods for months, totally peaceful.  _Someone_  pissed him off and set him on Main Street, and they used  _just_  the right amount of leverage to do it."

"And what is the purpose of all this chaos?" Hook ventured, his brow furrowing as he absorbed Emma's theory.

Emma swallowed down another burst of fear. "Henry."

"Henry?" Tinker Bell replied sharply, all pretense at staying quiet completely shot.

"Do you remember the prophecy?" Emma asked. "The one Neal told us about in Neverland?"

"The boy will be his undoing..." Hook recalled, a dark realization creeping into his eyes.

"I thought that having Belle and Neal around would keep him on the straight and narrow. But what if it hasn't? What if it's just reminded him of everything he could stand to lose? So he's created a series of diversions, each bigger than the last. We go out and vanquish the beast, and we leave Henry with a sitter, supervised but virtually unprotected."

She paused again. "I know it's not a lot to go on. But I have to trust my gut. And my gut is telling me Gold is behind this."

"What kind of plan is that?" Tink asked pointedly. "Bae would never forgive the Dark One for killing his son!"

"Aye," agreed Hook. "He wouldn't. But if the lad were to fall victim to some random magical calamity..."

"You believe me?" Emma hated the way her voice had taken on a breathy quality.

"You haven't led me wrong yet, Swan." He gave her a soft smile, and she felt her heart come alive in her chest, at his belief in her. "I say trust your gut."

Encouraged, but eager to avoid those all-seeing eyes of his, Emma turned to resume the Shadow Hunt, but she stopped when she felt a hand suddenly grip her arm. She looked down to where Killian's hand now encircled her wrist.

"Hook?"

He leaned in closer, properly whispering again so that she felt the warmth of his breath against her ear. "Please tell me there is more standing between Henry and the Crocodile than Granny and her crossbow."

The concern in his voice was obvious. As much as Hook had fought to save Henry in Neverland, no one had really been under the misapprehension he'd done it out of concern for Henry. Out of respect for Neal, maybe. But she knew there was more to it now. Sometime since Neverland, the two had formed some sort of bond. Now  _he cared_.

She placed a reassuring hand on his own, and he felt his own grip loosen at her touch. "He's safe."

Before she could do something stupid, like link her hand with his, a bloodcurdling scream erupted nearby, making them all jump a little, as they switched back to fighting stance.

"It's coming from the Chapel," Tink said, stepping between them, coconut in hand. "This way."

* * *

The three of them burst into the chapel just in time to see the Shadow reach into the chest of a lone Lost Boy, who alternated screaming and weeping as his Shadow was being forcibly ripped from his body.

Killian felt a phantom burst of pain in his chest, remembering the feeling all too well, as he stepped forward to call out the creature, to give the boy an opportunity to escape. That was, after all, his role in this little pantomime. To be the diversion. But Emma beat him to it.

"Hey, Casper!" Emma shouted, letting her voice echo across the wooden walls and ceilings. "How about you pick on someone your own size?"

To his relief, the Shadow let go of the boy, who fell back to the floor in a heap, dazed, but alive. But rather than heading towards her, as she no doubt intended, the creature diverted course at the last moment, ducking the swing of Hook's sword as it slammed into him, sending him careening backwards onto the floor, his sword falling from his grip to clatter on the floorboards beside him.

"Emma!" Tink yelled somewhere out of sight. "The candle!"

But if Emma managed to light the candle, Hook wasn't sure. All he saw were a pair of malevolent eyes burning in front of him like amber coals, and all he felt was the icy grip of the Shadow as it reached into his chest.

And then he felt cold. So very, very cold.

* * *

"Hook! Hook!"

The words were far away, garbled. Like the conversations he and Liam tried to have underwater when they were very young, reciting old rhymes back and forth until their breath ran out.

"You son of a bitch! Killian Jones!" He heard that. He knew it was his name. He knew he was supposed to answer, supposed to do something. But he was so cold. Everything was cold.

"Killian! C'mon! Come back to me!"

And then he felt a jolt of warmth in his breast, a warmth that began to spread through his fingers.

_Emma._

His eyes snapped open. The sight that greeted him was not something he could have prepared himself for.

He was where he expected to be, lying uncomfortably on the hard wooden floor of the chapel. But Emma Swan was crouched over him, clutching his hand tightly between both of her own, tear tracks evident on her face, as she let out a strangled gasp. And the ceiling. The ceiling was on fire.

"Swan?" he asked, a little groggily. He tried to sit up, but was knocked back by the force of Emma's weight. A hug. This was a hug.

"Miss me, darling?" He managed to choke out, even with Emma's arms tight around his neck.

The glimpse of the old pirate was apparently enough for Emma to remember herself, as she pulled back to slap him in the chest.

"Easy, love," he winced, sitting up a little before she could slap him again.

"Don't you  **ever** do that again!" The look in her eyes was fierce, and needy, and everything he wanted to see in Emma Swan's eyes. He idly wondered if he was still dreaming. The second slap disabused him of that notion.

"Promise," her voice cracked, and with it, all of the Savior's carefully constructed walls fractured, and Killian saw the Lost Girl underneath. The little girl who didn't matter, and never thought she would.

He reached up to trace the outline of her cheek with his thumb, brushing away a strand of hair that had plastered itself to her forehead, still marveling at their proximity. At the way she was looking at him. As if he was important. As if  _she cared._ "I promise, Swan."

And then Emma Swan's lips were on his, and she was kissing him, and he was kissing her, and he wanted nothing more in the world than to keep that promise. Because why die when there was  _this_?

"I don't mean to interrupt..." Came the familiar voice of a blasted fairy who clearly meant to interrupt.

Reluctantly, eventually, the two broke apart, and Killian craned his neck up to look at Tinker Bell as she stood over them, soot staining her face, a mild look of panic in her eyes. His eyes narrowed.

Undeterred, the fairy simply pointed upwards, drawing their attention back to the flaming ceiling.  _Ah._

"Yeah. Let's go."

* * *

She hadn't  _meant_ to set the roof on fire.

Obviously.

She'd been trying to light the freaking candle. And then she'd seen the Shadow go after Hook, and ironically enough, Gold's own words popped into her head. About magic. " _Why_  am I doing this?  _Who_  am I protecting?"

Hook. She was protecting Hook.

She lit the candle. But she also unleashed an accidental wave of fireballs. Maybe Tinker Bell would forgive her, in time. Once her eyebrows grew back.

The Shadow was a wily one though, and it did not go gently into that good night. It swept upwards, tearing away Hook's shadow as it went, holding onto the shadow like hostage as it circled the upper vestibule, out of range of the candle's sway.

Emma blinked away the tears that began as she looked back at Hook's form, still lying motionless on the floor. "We need to get closer!" She shouted at Tink, as the fairy held the candle with its flickering candle up to the roof.

It wasn't close enough. And she had no idea what would happen if they trapped Killian's shadow instead.

And then she noticed it. The vial of Pixie Dust still strung around the fairy's neck, glinting now in the firelight. All they needed was to believe.

"You can fly!" Emma yelled. "If you believe enough!" Tinker Bell seemed puzzled for a moment, and then a hand shot up to reach for the vial.

"I can't!" It was so not a time for performance anxiety.

"You can and you will!" Emma chanced another glance at Killian's prone body, an involuntary tear streaking down her face. "I believe in you! He believes in you! He needs you. I know he's important to you. So go save him!"

At last, the fairy's gaze turned determined, and she unscrewed the vial, showering herself in a cloud of Pixie Dust, which briefly sparkled purple against her skin as the magic took hold.

"I believe in myself. I believe in myself. I believe in myself," the fairy chanted to herself like a mantra.

Emma had no idea if it would help, but she clasped her hands together, adding a mantra of her own. "I believe in you. I believe in you. I believe in you."

And then Tinker Bell feet rose from the floor, and her grin turned wicked as she set the Shadow in her sights. It reacted instantly, darting away, only to find the way blocked by a wall of flame. Tink drew closer, candle held aloft, smiling wider still as the Shadow was inexplicably drawn to the tiny flame, still clutching Hook's shadow.

"No you don't," she said, grasping at the hostage shadow with her new-found magic, wrestling it from the Shadow as it weakened, before she pulled it entirely free, and shut the coconut, trapping the Shadow for good. Then without hesitation, she threw the coconut directly into the wall of flame, and the entire thing went up in smoke.

Emma was already by his side by the time Tink's boots were back on the ground, his hand trapped in between her own. His skin was icy cold to the touch, and it didn't inspire confidence.

"Can you even put shadows back once they get ripped out?" Emma asked, at last voicing the greatest fear she'd had since she'd seen him first go limp. "Can we fix it?"

"I don't know," the fairy admitted, still holding she shadow as it squirmed in her arms. "But we're going to try." She cut a glance back to Emma. "Ready?"

Emma felt the warm glow in her palms and she readied herself. "Ready."

On the count of three, Tink returned Hook's shadow to his body, holding it in place with a hand on his chest.

"Concentrate," she advised, her teeth gritted with the effort of keeping the shadow steady. So Emma did. She concentrated on Hook.  _On Killian._   _Whole. Alive. Healthy. Alive. Whole. Healthy. Whole. Alive. Healthy._

"Hook! Hook!"

_Whole. Alive. Healthy._

"You son of a bitch! Killian Jones!"

_Whole. Alive. Healthy._

The tears were free-flowing now, cascading down her cheeks.

_Whole. Alive. Healthy._

"Killian! C'mon! Come back to me!"

And then he opened his eyes.

* * *

If Killian had noticed that Emma hadn't let go of his hand since he'd woken up, then he was too polite to mention it. That left Tinkerbell to scoop up the stray Lost Boy as they headed out, before the ceiling could collapse on top of them.

The Blue Fairy was going to be pretty pissed about that.

Surely Emma could blame that one on the Shadow. Just a little white lie. Just this once.

Back on the streets of Storybrooke, everything looked almost ordinary, if you didn't count the lack of street lighting. Granny's back-up generator had kicked in though, with the neon lighting in the window acting as a beacon as they strolled down the middle of the darkened street. With her cell phone out of juice, Emma led their group in that direction, knowing that it would be a cold day in hell before Granny ever let the place remain undefended during a crisis.

Sure enough, when they stumbled inside, it was to find all of the usual suspects sprawled across Granny's vinyl seating, the woman herself sat by the door, crossbow in hand.

"Emma!" David stood up from his booth, rushing forward to envelop her in a hug. "We tried to call you-" Emma finally let go of Killian's hand to wrap her arms around her father. Her mother was right behind, pulling her into her arms.

When they broke apart, Emma pulled her phone from her pocket, to indicate the dead screen. "I think the Shadow has bad battery mojo. The torch died too." She looked around, taking in the battle weary faces around her. Her parents. Ruby. Regina. Neal.

When her eyes fell on Henry, she knew it was over.

There was no way Regina would have let him out if they hadn't won. She stumbled towards him, pulling him to her with a fierce hug.

"Gold's gone?" She asked to no one in particular, once her son had broken free to get another milkshake, even though she knew the answer.

"It was Belle." It was Neal, rising from a seat in the back, his eyes drifting, as if he wasn't sure he was allowed to look at her. "She got a hold of the dagger. And she... and she sent him across the town line." His eyes finally settled on Emma's own. "Without the scarf."

So he was gone. And he didn't have his memories.

_Good._

"And Belle?" She wasn't part of the diner contingent.

It was Ruby who spoke next. "She's upstairs. I gave her some Ambien and she conked right out. She was kind of a wreck." Emma could imagine. Being betrayed hurts. But being betrayed by the person you love most in the world destroys you. But she still made the hard choice, and saved them all.

Her eyes flickered back to Neal. He looked sad, but certainly not inconsolable over the loss of his father. But perhaps he had already resigned himself to that loss a long time ago.

"And the Shadow?" Neal prompted, though that also seemed obvious, considering that they'd all come back a bit charred, but otherwise alive.

"Tinker Bell," Emma smiled back at the fairy, who had collapsed into one of the booths, and was trying to coax the Lost Boy to eat a sandwich. "She used the Pixie Dust and trapped the shadow. Threw the coconut in the fire. It's gone." The grin he shot her was weary, but pleased.

"Alas, so is the chapel roof. It seems someone may have been a  _little_  overzealous when it came to lighting the candle..." Killian appeared beside Emma, lifting his hand to gently trace against hers, as if she was going to pull away at any moment. Instead, she linked her hand with his, pulling him closer to her side.

It was not an action that went unnoticed. She heard her mother's sharp intake of breath, and she saw Ruby's sly smile across the room. But Neal's reaction was the one Killian had dreaded, so she kept her eyes on him. To his credit, his mouth dropped open a second, but he closed it again quickly.

"Well," he said, reaching forward to ruffle their son's hair. "I won't tell the Blue Fairy if you won't."

* * *

In the wake of the Shadow's attack and Gold's banishment, the town hall had been re-purposed into a evacuation center of sorts, once Regina had restored the town's power supply. It made an odd contrast, the white streamers and banners and fairy lights celebrating a new Royal Baby playing host to a contingent of displaced fairies and Lost Boys on standard issue sleeping cots. Not exactly the occasion Mary Margaret had dreamed of, though she seemed to be in her element now, doling out ladles of soup and offering small words of consolation.

Emma and Killian stood off to the side, watching Tinker Bell's last ditch effort to return to the Blue Fairy's good graces. She'd saved the day, and managed to make the Pixie Dust work, but they still stood by, just in case she needed a glowing reference or two. But if the delighted shrieking and hugging going down with the fairies was any indication, then Tink would have her wings back in no time.

"It's a damn shame," Killian sighed, pulling Emma to him, swaying on the spot to imaginary music. With the fairy lights twinkling above them, she could almost believe it.

"Oh?"

"She could have been the Harbormaster's Assistant. And she threw it all away-" Emma swatted him on the shoulder.

"Speaking of Harbormasters, where have you been?"

"Been?" He shot her a puzzled glance.

"For the last two weeks?" She was surprised to find his ears turn pink in front of her very eyes.

"Well, lass, that is a very fascinating story." His hand came up to scratch behind his ear, betraying his nervousness.

"And I'd like to hear it," she teased, swaying into him.

"Well, the truth is, I..." He met her gaze finally. "I thought you'd reconciled with  _Neal_ and I drank every bottle of spirits in Granny's very poorly hidden stash."

"Oh." That made... some sense.

"I may be in the Widow Lucas's debt for quite some time. There were... a lot of bottles."

"You're an idiot."

"Aye," he smiled without really smiling. "That I am."

"I thought you knew how I felt about Neal. When we talked at the Sheriff's Station?"

"Aye, but part of you was still considering it." Only a very small part.

"He told me, you know." His face remained blank. "Neal. He told me that you'd decided to be stupidly noble. That you promised him you'd back off."

"Ahh." Another ear scratch. "You weren't supposed to hear about that."

Emma took a steadying breath, and posed the question she'd been waiting months to ask. "Did you stay in Storybrooke for me?"

"Aye."

When she pulls Killian's lips to hers that time, it isn't followed by his usual initial freeze of surprise. And it is definitely  _not_ a one-time thing.

"Speaking of staying in Storybrooke," she interrupted, breaking the kiss. "How about a promotion?"

"Love, has anyone ever told you that your timing is god awful?" She smiled, letting her head rest against his chest and they continued swaying on the spot.

"I don't know, I think you'd make a good Deputy." He swayed to a stop, and she felt his hook under her chin, forcing her to look in his eyes.

"Let me see if I have this right. You're offering me a career in... enforcing the law? Rather than... flouting it?" He looked genuinely confused.

"I once promised you a chance to be a part of something. That doesn't have to end. Storybrooke is always going to need some kind of saving. And I need help. David did a good job of stepping up while I was stuck in the Enchanted Forest, but he's got... other concerns right now."

"And by that you mean your future sibling." Emma frowned a little. Killian didn't press the matter.

"And you think a one-handed pirate with a drinking problem is the answer?"

"You're not..." She started again. "You're smart, you've got great instincts, and not afraid of a fight. Moreover, we work well together, and occasionally, you listen to me."

"And they are the only reasons you wish to keep me close by? Hmmm?"

Emma shrugged. "I've gotten used to having you around. And you're not the worst company in the world," she conceded, her voice growing smaller with each word.

"Don't strain yourself with the praise, Swan," he pretended at being wounded by her words, but the twitch of his lips gave him away.

"Are you asking me to stay, love?"

"Well, yeah."

"Well then," he said, raising one arm to twirl her on the spot, before bowing deeply. "As you wish."


End file.
